


To Thine Own Self Be True

by TozaBoma



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Doctor Who 50th Anniversary, Gen, doctor who - Freeform, yes i know i'm late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TozaBoma/pseuds/TozaBoma
Summary: Nine, Ten and Eleven find themselves in the same pub in… Gallifrey? This can’t be a coincidence; some other Gallifreyan must  be manipulating them to achieve their plans of world domination, surely. Yes, s/he is. And don’t call me Shirley.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

The whitewashed walls of the Steer Inn were cheerful, almost ebullient, as they inspected the man standing not ten feet from its front door. Nothing out of the ordinary, it noted, and yet, and yet - and _yet_ … Something was intriguing, something was _off_ about the man in the black leather jacket. His hands clasped in front of him as if waiting for a bus, he simply stood, his head tilted to one side in the harsh glare of the streetlamp behind him. A small halo of council-run light circled his short, dark hair, framing the generously-proportioned ears with a Monet-esque vagueness, serving to make him appear something that the pub might have mistaken for alien. But that would have been silly.

Just as the pub gave up all hope of him moving, he pulled in a deep breath, let his hands fall to his sides, and strode up to the door.

“Just a quick pint,” he said blithely. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

The public house did not reply. In the same way that rain falls on a public holiday no matter the country or planet, it didn’t even need to.

 

ooOoo

 

The TARDIS gave a muted _dong!_ , a soft chime of the most alarming scream for help she could manage. The man with the brown suit and hair that looked like a collection of survivors from an explosion in a pipe-cleaner factory looked up from his perch on the high chair.

“What?” he demanded, leaping off the cushion and rushing to the side of the Time Rotor. “What’s the matter?”

His hands pushed at levers and twisted at globes half-sunk into the control console as he whizzed around the six-sided dashboard, his eyebrows hugging together in fright and worry. Then he stopped dead, eyeing the large monitor now displaying several coruscating circles and Gallifreyan symbols. He stood back, his hands dropping to his sides.

“A pub? You want to go to a pub?” he asked, and if confusion had been a shade of paint he could have redecorated the inside of the timeship several times over.

Again the dull throb of a plea chimed at him.

“Alright, alright - enough with the cloister bell,” he warned. “We’ll go. But if you just want a quick pint, asking about the worst thing that could happen, I’ll be _very_ disappointed in you. Everyone knows that’s the quickest way to get into the kind of trouble that it takes me at _least_ forty-two minutes to get back out of.”

The lights around him flickered brighter. He pushed buttons, adjusted levers, yanked handles.

The TARDIS homed in.

 

ooOoo

 

“No, no, no,” the man said cheerfully, one hand going to the red bow-tie at his neck. “I’m not a Tommy Cooper fan. I just want to know where I can get a Betamax machine.”

The woman, older than him in appearance, put her hands on her hips. She huffed and then looked around the field, taking in the many cars and vans dotted about under the weak Sunday sun. “This is a _car boot sale_. I don’t know what everyone’s got.”

“But you’ve got a Philips N-1700,” he pointed out petulantly, his hand coming off the bow-tie to point at the machine on the picnic table in front of her.

“And you’re wearing a bow-tie. Doesn’t mean you have a rubber chicken in your pocket.”

“Actually, I _do_ have a—”

“Try Bill - the bloke behind you. Red Ford Focus. Looks like he has a lot of tape players,” she said, turning away.

He nodded, looking over his shoulder to locate the nearest red car. He looked back at her. “Thanks. Oh, by the way…” He pointed to a small china horse. “You should get _this_ piece valued by someone off the Antiques Roadshow. If I’m not mistaken, it’s from Madame de Pompadour’s personal collection. Worth a small house. Well, a _large_ house up here in Yorkshire.”

She turned and stared at him. Then she looked down at the horse. She picked it up. Carefully.

“You’re welcome,” he said, spinning away. He straightened his bow-tie with a flourish, paddled his fingers against thin air, and then made for the red vehicle parked about twenty feet away across the green grass. “Bill, is it?” he called with gusto.

The man currently perched on the open tail inside the boot of the car looked up from his newspaper. “Aye. What can I do for you?”

“Lady over there with the amusing car says you have a Betamax machine,” he said with an entire tenement row of happy teeth.

Bill, not one to pass up a sale, folded his newspaper and got to his feet, being careful not to bump his head on the inside of the boot lid. “Don’t have one with me, but I know where I can get one.”

“Splendid! Always wanted a Betamax,” the man cried, his hands clasping together and rubbing as if they needed a polish. “When, where, how much - and at the risk of sounding impatient - _when_?”

“Uhm…” Bill looked the man up and down, only slightly perturbed by the air of dotty professor-ness that he exuded like the comfortable aroma of baked bread in a closed kitchen. “Well… I think my mate Dave might have one. I’ll have to give him a ring, let you know.”

“Oh,” the man managed, his face falling into disappointment. “I was kind of hoping you’d be able to lay your hands on it.” He delved into the pockets of his tweed jacket, producing a wad of rather battered fifty pound notes.

Bill’s eyes widened. “I’ll get my phone,” he said hastily, turning for the boot of the car.

The man dropped the money back into his pocket, his eyes going to the table between him and the car boot now busy with conversations and plans. He sniffed, then put his hands on his knees to bend down and inspect the array of electronica on the plastic table. Now and again his face would stretch into amused pity, or delight, or fond recollection, and his hand would go to a piece of machinery to give it an affectionate pat of attention.

Bill snapped his mobile phone shut and looked at the stranger. “Done. Dave says he has go into town tonight so he’ll bring it with him. He’s got two, but only one works. Is twenty quid alright?”

“Twenty?” the man protested. “It’s not exactly new, even for this period in time.”

“Yeah, but they’re _rare_ these days,” Bill smiled.

“Fine,” the man said immediately, straightening. He hooked his thumbs around his red braces, pulling them cheerfully before pinging them against his shirt. “Where?”

“A pub near his place. It’s called the Steer Inn,” Bill said.

“I see what they did there,” the man grinned. “So what time, and how will I know him?”

“Well he’s at work now, but—”

“At work? On a Sunday? Shouldn’t be allowed.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, mate,” Bill said with a nod. “Anyway, he can be at the pub for about eight, he says. He’ll be the one—”

“Carrying a huge great Betamax tape recorder, yes,” the man interrupted. He lifted his wrist, peering at the watch face on the inside. “Thank you, Bill. You’ve been most helpful.”

“No trouble,” he said. “Do you know where the Steer Inn is?”

The man smiled rather gamely. “Not a clue.”

Bill turned and pointed toward the road. “You need to take that road there, the A161. Then you need High Street. It’s down there. Nice place.”

The man came closer to the table, leaning in, the fingers of both hands knotted together in clandestine curiosity. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. “Do they serve real ale?”

“Aye. The good stuff,” Bill smiled.

“Well then! I’m sold, as they say,” he grinned. “Whoever ‘they’ are. Thanks again, Bill. Oh - and that iPad you’ve got on your table is a fake. Looks like a Chinese or Rigellian knock-off. Probably best to get rid of it. The batteries explode if they’re overcharged, you know.”

“Oh!” Bill managed, looking down at the item on the table. “Really?”

“Unfortunately yes,” the man nodded. And then he turned briskly and marched off across the grass.

Bill picked up the iPod carefully, turning it over and over. His puzzlement was matched only by the amount of wonder he had for the man who had noticed some clue he still couldn’t find.

 

ooOoo

 

The man in the black jacket seated himself at the bar, looking up and down it as if expecting to find a man in a World War Two pilot’s coat grinning back at him. When no-one and nothing appeared to engage him, he instead looked to his left, at the small TV positioned in sturdy brackets above and behind the bar. BBC News 24 was busy broadcasting pictures and stories from all kinds of devastation and destruction, but he couldn’t look away.

“Like a car crash, int it?” said a breezy voice from his right. He turned his head and saw a tall lady watching him with laughing eyes. Her faded blue cardigan, buttoned half-way up over a yellow stop, told tales of long shifts behind the counter. She put a hand through her short brown hair. “What can I get you, love?”

“Well aren’t you a cheery soul? What’s your name?” the man asked with a smile.

“Margaret.”

“Any aliens on the telly, Margaret?” he asked innocently.

“Aliens? Not since Christmas,” she grinned, coming down the bar to stop opposite him.

“Then I’ll have a pint of… What have you got?” he asked.

She put her hand on the wooden counter, leaning on it slightly. “We’ve got everything local, and a lot of German in. What’s your preference?”

“When you say ‘local’…” he began. Something bounced around the inside of his head. “I’ll have to have a think.”

“Right you are.”

A loud creak was heard and Margaret looked up at the front door, currently a good thirty feet from the back of the black-jacketed punter. Her gaze followed someone as they weaved between the wooden tables and chairs, parking themselves on the stool in front of her.

“Evening,” said the newcomer, putting both elbows on the wooden top and lacing his fingers.

“Well good evening to you, sir,” she smiled. “What’ll it be?”

“Oh! Drink, right, yes. Got any Tennent’s?”

She took in his brown pin-striped suit and amusing bed-hair. “Of course,” she beamed. “Lager, Special or Ember?”

The man smirked as if he knew a great deal more than he was letting on. “Special, please. It might well be one of those nights.”

“Comin’ up,” she nodded, turning to the pumps further down the counter.

The man stared over his right shoulder, looking over the quiet interior of the Steer Inn. The wooden tables and chairs hinted at the empty snooker table toward the far wall, hoping he would feel the urge to try it out. “Bit quiet tonight, isn’t it?” he asked innocently. “Nothing… out of the ordinary happening.”

“Well, footie’s on the telly. We don’t have a licence to show it, see, so everyone’s at home watching it on their big plasma ‘home entertainment systems’,” she said. She watched the pint fill, slowing and dribbling in the top inch. Eventually she brought it over, setting it on the counter. “There you go, pet. That’s two twenty, please.”

“Money. Right.” The handsome stranger got off his stool, feeling through his pockets. “Ah. Here we are.” He set a crisp five pound note on the wooden surround, sitting down again.

Margaret picked it up and went to the till while the man picked up his pint. He sipped at it, decided he liked it, and downed a few large mouthfuls. He was just setting it down when, to his left, the man in black sniffed to himself.

“Is the BBC all you can get?” he asked. “Not got Sky, have you? They’ll have _Star Trek_ on. Got a soft spot for Mister Spock,” he grinned.

Margaret chuckled, but the man in brown looked to his left. He gulped in surprise. And then approximately four fluid ounces of Tennent’s Special erupted from his mouth and nose like a pyroclastic cloud from Vesuvius. His hand slipped on the glass and it plummeted to the wooden counter. A graceful break-dancing spin later and its contents were all over everything in sight. The two men leapt to their feet in synchronised dismay.

“Oh, love! Just stand right there, let me help you!” Margaret cried. She was already whisking up a heavy bar towel and heading for the end of the counter that housed the trapdoor exit.

But the brown-haired man was staring at the man in the black jacket. “What on Gallifrey are you doing here?” he demanded.

The man in black halted his hands that were trying to brush a little wayward alcohol from his black t-shirt. He looked up quickly, staring at the man in the brown suit. “ _What_ did you just say?”

“Oh we’re _all_ in Gallifrey,” Margaret said helpfully as she bullied the alcohol from the man’s suit jacket with her bar towel. “Did you not see the sign as you drove into town?”

“What?” the two men chorused.

There was another creak and the three of them looked to the door. A lean man in a tweed jacket and amusingly cut trousers was studying them from the entrance. He straightened his bow-tie as he gave a bemused sway, rather like barley in a gentle breeze.

“Oh,” he said curtly, before looking behind him and then back into the pub. “Two of us shouldn’t be here.”

Margaret just looked at him. “Oh relax, love. I think you’re all over eighteen.”

“I’m one thousand and seven,” the man in the bow-tie said, eyeing the other two men with a crafty smile. “And let me guess… _you’re_ about nine hundred something - sixty, really, but you lie and say three,” he nodded to the man in the brown suit. “And _you_ …” he added, turning to the man in black. “Well. Let’s just say you’re too busy angsting to count.”

“Say - very clearly - who you are,” the man in black warned.

Mr Bow-tie smiled in a way that made his eyes light up with eager glee. “You could say… I’m the new boy.”

 


	2. TWO

 

 

Margaret retreated behind the bar top as the three men stood looking at each other. A strange fog descended upon the pub, as if awkwardness incarnate had walked in behind the man with the bow-tie.

“So,” he said loudly, clapping his hands together, “what do we do now? Prove we are who we say we are?”

“Who _do_ we say we are?” asked the man in the black jacket.

“Oh come now Doctor, keep up,” said Mr Bow-tie. He looked at the man in brown. “Bit dense back then, weren’t we?”

The man in the brown suit rolled his eyes and groaned. “You’re not with LInDA, are you?”

Mr Bow-tie gave a bark of a laugh. “Shouldn’t think so. At least, I hope not.” He frowned to himself suddenly, but by the time the other two men had thought of something to ask, his head was already shooting back up, sending floppy brown hair bouncing in cheerful curiosity. “It’s easy for me - I know you two. Whereas you two have _absolutely no idea_ who I am.”

“He’s right there,” Mr Black Jacket conceded. “So go on, pal, just who _are_ you?”

“I’m the Doctor,” he beamed, hooking his thumbs in his braces. “As are you.” He looked at the man in the brown suit. “And - uhm - you.”

“Oh, a doctor’s meeting after-hours, is it? That’s very friendly of you, when you lot work such long hours to begin with,” Margaret said happily from behind them, still cleaning off the wet bar-top. “Oh, here’s your change, pet,” she added, piling coins on the counter. Mr Brown Suit didn’t even turn to see.

Mr Black Jacket tutted. “Rubbish.”

“Prove it,” Mr Brown Suit marvelled, looking the man up and down.

Mr Bow-tie sighed, his head tilting to one side as he looked at the ceiling. He pointed at the man in the black jacket. “You,” he said suddenly, “keep a banana under the Time Rotor. In between the Frootmig Coupler and the Baseroteric De-Antonn Board. You say it’s for emergencies, but really it’s just to amuse Rose when you tell her to bring you a hydro-spanner.”

Mr Black Jacket stared, agog. “How could you know that?”

“You do—. Did,” Mr Brown Suit said, a daffy grin on his face. “I remember.”

“She likes it, doesn’t she?” Mr Bow-tie went on, only the man in black in his sights. “And so do you. Every time she opens that hatch and reaches in, she knows she’s going to get fruit - well, fruit of a herb, really - _you_ know she’s going to get a fruit, but you two go through with the whole charade anyway. Because it’s _fun_ , and it’s familiar. Comfortable.”

Mr Black Jacket folded his arms. He said nothing.

Mr Bow-tie looked back at the man in the brown suit. “Martha Jones - the good girl, the funny girl, the one who could be relied on to travel the world. She had a mug - a large one with the slight crack in the back edge, just where the ditzy flowers met the purple splash of paint. You got it for her, on Bellisarius III. She picked it out, but you said no because it was damaged. She bargained with the obstreperous stall holder and you ended up paying ten pence and a packet of Polos.”

Mr Brown Suit’s mouth snapped shut audibly. He glanced at Mr Black Jacket before looking back at Mr Bow-tie. “You know you’re right.”

“So…” Mr Black Jacket let his arms drop, instead studying the other two men more closely. “So you two come after me.”

“And before, and at the same time, apparently,” Mr Bow-tie said. He sniffed and looked at the barmaid. “Any chance of a pint?”

“Of what?” she asked, completely non-plussed.

“Banana milkshake?” he hazarded. She just stared at him. “No? Ok then,” he grumped, looking around the pub and putting his hands on his hips. “Well, let’s see. _I_ have to meet a man about a Betamax. What are me and myself doing here?”

“The TARDIS,” said Mr Brown Suit. He came closer, looking the other man over as if searching for gold. “She brought me here. —Are you _really_ what comes next?” he asked, offence pitching his voice very high.

“Yes. Stop staring,” Mr Bow-tie said irritably.

“But - you’re so… so… _professory_ ,” Mr Brown Suit protested. “And not ginger.”

“No, but my friend is.”

“Pain in the whotsit, is she?” Mr Brown Suit commiserated. “I know someone like that.”

“Sometimes,” Mr Bow-tie allowed. His eyes slid to Mr Black Jacket. “And you, Ears. What brought you here?”

“I can’t believe you two come next,” he said, walking closer. He appraised them both. “Can’t say I’m impressed.”

“Yes you did - you just said it. ‘Impressed’,” Mr Bow-tie said pleasantly. “I’m quick like that. You should see me at Scrabble with Liz Ten. ’Course, she’s a terrible cheat.”

Mr Black Jacket glared at him. “I came here because this seemed to be the quietest place on planet Earth. No Slitheen, no gas mask zombies, no autons. Just BBC News and a quiet pub.”

“Ye-es,” Mr Bow-tie said slowly, looking around. “Very quiet. And very Hitchhiker’s. Do we order pints and salted peanuts or just yak about old times?”

“ _Your_ old times,” Mr Brown Suit said. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“No,” Mr Bow-tie said hastily. “Don’t suppose it would.”

The door creaked open yet again and a man walked in, a large, cumbersome rectangular box under his arm. “Evening, Margaret, love!” he called as he set it on the nearest table. He looked up, finding three men and a woman watching him. “Evening, gents.”

“Alright, Dave? The usual?” Margaret asked, obviously pleased to latch onto something normal.

“Aye. Parched from carrying this blasted thing.” He looked at the three men. “Bill said some bloke wanted a Betamax. I’m guessing he meant… you,” he said, nodding at Mr Bow-tie. “Professor type, he said.”

Mr Bow-tie advanced on Dave and the box, his hands going up in the air in excitement. “Yes! A Betamax machine! At last!” he cried ebulliently.

Mr Brown Suit floated back out of the way, his hands in his pockets. Mr Black Jacket looked at Margaret, currently pulling a pint, then at Mr Brown Suit. “Which one are you? Directly next, or far-flung next?” he asked quietly.

Mr Brown Suit, his eyes stuck on Mr Bow-tie, hauled in a sudden breath through his nose, turning on Mr Black Jacket sharply. “Sorry, what?”

“I said you’re next. Are you directly after me?”

“Oh. Probably shouldn’t say.” Mr Brown Suit’s eyes went down and up. “I can see what people meant about the ears.”

“What happened to my hair?” Mr Black Jacket shot back. “You look like someone’s tied you to a pylon in an electrical storm.”

“Well at least I’m better dressed,” Mr Brown Suit sniffed. He turned and they both looked at the two other men, currently opening the cardboard box and fussing over a tape recorder. “He’s a bit… I can’t decide if he’s like the first me - uhm, us - or the second.”

“Or both,” Mr Black Jacket nodded. “Seems a bit… odd.”

Mr Brown Jacket gave his smirk of omnipotence. “I’m sure we did, too.”

“No, I mean… Nervous energy. Barely hanging on,” Mr Black Jacket muttered, pre-occupied. “What _happened?_ ”

“We can’t know,” Mr Brown Suit warned. “Spoilers.”

“What do you mean, ‘spoilers’?”

They were interrupted by Dave and Mr Bow-tie laughing and shaking hands. Dave went to the counter top, sitting down by the bar and picking up his pint. “Thanks, Margaret.”

The two Doctors exchanged a glance before approaching the third, currently bent over the box and chatting away to himself. “Yes. We’ll have lovely fun, won’t we?” he beamed, stroking the top of the Betamax machine. It, for its part, said nothing, but it was clearly enjoying the attention of a Time Lord. “You just wait till I get you back to the TARDIS. You’ll like it there, it’s got wide open spaces where you can run free. Or rather your tape can.”

“What do you need that for?” Mr Black Jacket asked.

“Something you lot never managed to do,” Mr Bow-tie said proudly, his hands coming out of the box as he twirled to look at them both, his fingers paddling against thin air. “There’s a tiny bit of kit in this Betamax that would work wonders on a little chameleon circuit I know.”

“Really?” Mr Brown Suit asked, a hand going to the back of his head to scratch in thought. “I don’t think there’s anything in there that will fix a—”

“Not _fix_ ,” Mr Bow-tie interrupted. “ _Improve_.”

“Speaking of chameleon circuits… Where are your TARDISes?” Mr Black Jacket asked. “Because if they’re all parked together in the car park—”

“Blimey!” Mr Brown Suit heaved. He turned and ran for the way out.

The other two looked at each other. “Athletic, isn’t he?” Mr Bow-tie commented.

Then Mr Black Jacket pounded across the pub and out of the exit.

Mr Bow-tie looked over at the barmaid. “Thanks for your help. Superb hostelry,” he called, waving in a slightly bemused way. Margaret simply waved back. “Dave,” he announced, pointing at the man at the bar, “you’re a brick.” He hefted the box under one arm and made for the exit to the pub.

 

ooOoo

 

The three Time Lords stood in the car park, the circles of harsh street light around them none too eager to touch them. Mr Bow-tie shuffled the heavy box under his arm, his other hand resting on the top. Mr Black Jacket simply stared.

Mr Brown Suit, his hands in his pockets, had his head tilted slightly to one side. “Now that is something you really don’t see every day,” he mused.

The objects of their attention were standing, looking back at them, obviously enjoying it all immensely. Three similar blue police boxes, their doors scuffed in different ways - one with a St. John’s Ambulance sticker, one with the mark of an arrow-hole in the door, one with an air of regret - waited for the three men to do something.

Mr Brown Suit looked down slightly at Mr Bow-tie. “Y’know what’s odd?” he said slowly. “I parked her behind the trees.”

“That’s nothing - I parked her by the shed against the pub wall,” Mr Black Jacket said.

“What shed?” Mr Brown Suit asked.

Mr Black Jacket lifted an arm and pointed. “That one.”

“Oh.”

Mr Bow-tie looked first to his left, at Mr Brown Suit, then to his right, at Mr Black Jacket. “I parked her across the road,” he scoffed. “I think she engineered all this just to catch up with other TARDISes.”

“She should have asked,” Mr Brown Suit said sternly. “She knows we’re not allowed to mix.”

“She was lonely,” Mr Bow-tie said petulantly, surprising the others. “You know how she gets when she feels old and left out.”

“Who’s with you? In the TARDIS, I mean?” Mr Black Jacket asked.

“A couple again. Just like the old days, with Ian and Barbara. Well, not quite,” Mr Bow-tie said awkwardly. “In fact? Not at all the same. Anyway, they’re quite happy having a Time Out at home. A rest, I mean. Not the chocolate bar. Well they _could_ be having a Time Out chocolate bar.” He paused. “You?”

“Rose,” Mr Black Jacket said. “I’ve left her with her mum for the afternoon. I think we both needed the break. It’s been all running and screwdrivers and shrieking and hiding and corridors.”

“I remember those days,” Mr Brown Suit sighed. The other two looked at him. He glanced but did a double-take, realising they were watching him. One of his eyebrows raised in defence. “Donna’s on Meta Sigma Folia. I’ll go get her when we’re done here. She’s taking in the oil-and-water show.”

“Ah yes, Donna,” Mr Bow-tie nodded. “I remember there being one simple rule for Donna: when she tries to clock you one for being late, just duck and agree with the next thing she says.”

“So… how come I don’t remember meeting myself?” Mr Brown Suit asked. “I mean, _he_ met me - us,” he added, gesturing to Mr Black Jacket with his head. “So I should remember being him and meeting me. Us.”

“English is so limiting,” Mr Bow-tie sighed. “Try Gallifreyan future-imperfect-conditional-past number eighty-four,” he said.

“Oh,” the other two men nodded in dawning realisation.

“So… even though you come after us and this is all new to you,” Mr Brown Suit said, “wibbly-wobbly stuff has wobbled when it should have wibbled and you’re writing our past-present because we’re still writing your present-future by changing _our_ past-future with this evening?”

“Exactly,” Mr Bow-tie nodded.

“But we’re never supposed to meet,” Mr Black Jacket said. “You know the rules.”

“It was an accident,” Mr Brown Suit argued.

“Really?” Mr Black Jacket said. “What are the odds of this happening? Especially when you two don’t yet remember meeting me?”

There was a deathly silence.

“Spoilers,” Mr Bow-tie said simply. “For all three of us.”

“I met a girl once, she used to say that,” Mr Brown Suit said. “She was… magnificent. Brilliant, in fact. I would have taken her with me. And then it was too late.”

“It was. But it isn’t, and it won’t be,” Mr Bow-tie said quietly.

“Did you ever find out who she was?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Mr Bow-tie hefted the machine in his arm before it could slip. “I think we should be going. Before the badness starts.”

“And the running. And screwdrivering. And shrieking. Why do they always shriek?” Mr Black Jacket said knowingly.

“Well I can’t stand around here with a massive great Betamax under my arm,” Mr Bow-tie grumbled. “See you ’round, fellas. It’s been… odd, interesting, and against all the rules of time.”

“You’re absolutely right, Doctor, as usual,” came a cheeky voice from behind them. “So let me take that machine off you. Oh, and your _three_ TARDISes.”

The three men froze. Nothing moved, not even a sound wave, for a long moment. It was Mr Black Jacket who stirred first, turning slowly. He found a man, almost ferret-ish in his beady study of them. He was wearing a simple black suit and matching shoes, his black tie pulled undone and the top button of his shirt likewise.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Mr Black Jacket asked. “You look like an extra from a Quentin Tarantino film.”

“Doctors?” the man prompted with a maddeningly smug smile.

Mr Bow-tie and Mr Brown Suit shared a fearful look. Then they too turned, looking at the man with varying degrees of resignation.

“I’ll give you one guess,” the man grinned. “Not this regeneration, I’ll admit. —But we’ve definitely tangled a few times. And I owe a few of you some retribution.”

Mr Brown Jacket’s face grew very, _very_ dark. “The Master.”

“You know, I’m sure I like it when you use that name,” the man said, his face falling.

“ _This_ is the Master?” Mr Black Jacket protested. “What, Weasel-Face, here?”

“Oh Doctor, I wish I’d met you during this regeneration. You were so much less… diplomatic,” the Master said. “Oh! Wait a minute - I _am_ meeting you in this regeneration!” he cried, laughing suddenly.

“He’s lost the plot,” Mr Black Jacket realised.

“I don’t think he was ever in the library,” Mr Bow-tie said quickly. “Erm… Run?”

“Oh how I wish you could,” the Master said with an air of regret. “But I need your TARDISes. Keys, please.”

“Now don’t take this the wrong way,” Mr Black Jacket said, “but go regenerate yourself.”

The Master laughed in delight. “I was _hoping_ you’d say that.” He turned to his right slightly, looking far across the car park. He cleared his throat, put a hand to the side of his mouth to cup it slightly, and drew in a deep breath. “Help! Help! I’m being mugged!” he shouted with theatrical glee. He paused, listening. And then he frowned. “That’s your cue!” he shouted, annoyed.

The Doctors looked over. From out of the hedge hiding the dark edge of the car park stepped boots. Many, many black boots. And standing in them, holding large rifles and looking like they had been denied breakfast and were really unhappy about it, were about thirty Judoon.

 


	3. THREE

 

The large, rhino-like police flooded out from the hedge. They encircled the three Doctors, currently watching with varying displays of suspicion.

“Now,” the Master said, rubbing his hands together and assessing the three Time Lords. “I expect you have questions. Yes, I’m about to launch another dastardly plan to take over the planet. Yes, I need your three TARDISes to do it. Yes, that’s why I brought you all here. Yes—”

“You didn’t bring _me_ here,” Mr Black Jacket scoffed. “I _decided_ to come.”

“No, you told your TARDIS to take you somewhere peaceful. She chose… ooh, let me see… _here_ ,” the Master shot back. “Perhaps something to do with knowing that two other TARDISes were about to be here too. She must get lonely, being one of two left.”

“Two?” Mr Bow-tie asked quickly.

“Yes. I still have one, thanks. And no, I’m not telling you where it is.” The Master sniffed. “So that’s it for the questions, then?”

“Gallifrey,” Mr Brown Suit said. “How and why?”

The Master chuckled, pointing at him. “Oh dear - you are _really_ behind, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “This whole village is called ‘Gallifrey’. I thought it would be funny. Anything else?”

Mr Bow-tie put his hand up as he swivelled left and right to see if anyone else were doing the same. He found himself alone.

The Master folded his arms, looking him up and down. “I don’t know you. Which one _are_ you?”

“I’m your fault. Technically,” he said.

“What do you mean?” the Master asked carefully.

Mr Bow-tie lifted his chin as his hand fell. “Interesting. You’re not even up to my timeline, are you? So… you don’t know what I know.”

“About what?”

“Oh. Ah. Awkward,” Mr Bow-tie said, his voice chock-full of worry. “Well, never mind. Question: why us three? You hadn’t met two of me before tonight. Why us?”

“Actually, you’ll have to thank _my_ TARDIS for that,” the Master beamed. “It wanted three others for our little experiment, so it sent the comms equivalent of cute kitten cards and the promise of cookies into the vortex. And look who turned up.”

“I came for a Betamax,” Mr Bow-tie interrupted. “See?” He patted the top of the cardboard box still under his arm.

“Yes yes, whatever moves your furniture,” the Master said dismissively. “Anyway, can we move this along? You three need to give me your keys and stand aside.” He put a palm out, waggling his fingers at them.

“And you think we’re just going to hand them over?” Mr Black Jacket asked. “I think being American and then turning into this weedy version of yourself has left you cracked.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” the Master snapped sarcastically. “How many hundreds of years did it take to think _that_ one up?”

Mr Black Jacket’s eyes narrowed.

Mr Brown Suit put a hand out, going across the man in the middle, in some kind of attempt to rein them all in. “Now, wait a minute,” he said slowly. “I don’t know how you’re here, and I don’t care right now; how many times have we crossed paths, and we’ve _never_ let you into a TARDIS?”

The Master tilted his head. “Yes… We parted on such _fiery_ terms, didn’t we? Don’t worry - I fixed all the damage you did.”

“You regenerated? You couldn’t have done,” Mr Brown Suit argued.

“You forget, I know all about chameleon arches and hiding. Get over it,” the Master sniffed.

“A chameleon arch?” Mr Black Jacket asked. “No-one would use those. They’re… archaic.”

Mr Brown Suit and Mr Bow-tie shared an embarrassed glance. Then Mr Bow-tie looked back at the Master. “So, correct me if I’m wrong,” he said slowly, “but you were dead, you got better, and now you want to take over the world?”

“Yes. This one. —For starters,” the Master smiled. “So be a good chap - all of you, Doctors - and hand over the keys.”

“I don’t have a key,” Mr Bow-tie said, a smug grin pouring over his face like chocolate sauce over ice-cream. “I don’t need one.”

“What?” the Master demanded. “Don’t be stupid.”

Mr Bow-tie lifted a hand. He snapped his fingers and a single door to the middle TARDIS swung open. “Ta-da!” he announced. He snapped again and it swung shut. “Keys are for _old_ me. I snap my fingers now.”

The other two Doctors exchanged a glance over the middle man’s head.

“Thing is,” Mr Bow-tie went on, “it only seems to work for me.”

“Then I’ll use one of the other keys; it _is_ the same TARDIS, after all,” the Master said, apparently well pleased.

“Oh,” Mr Bow-tie said with a face like a five-year-old who’s been told to go to bed at six o’clock. “Poo.”

“You say you need three more TARDISes. What for?” Mr Brown Suit demanded.

“I’d be only too happy to show you, Doctor,” the Master said with a bright smile. “Now then. Hand over your screwdrivers first, and your keys after.” He looked to a rather hefty Judoon to his right, gesturing to the Doctors with his head. “Collect.”

The Judoon clomped much closer, shoving its large gun into its leg holster. Its hand came out, palm up, waiting.

The three Time Lords looked at each other. Hands went into jackets in perfect synchronisation. Out came three screwdrivers.

“Yours is green,” Mr Black Jacket said immediately, peering at Mr Bow-tie’s hand. “Why’s it green?”

“You know I can’t say. You’ll find out when you’re me,” he said irritably. “Idiot.”

Mr Black Jacket frowned at him. “So, Future Boy, got any ideas for getting out of this?”

“Why ask me? I came here for a perfectly good reason. You two just blundered into my timeline,” Mr Bow-tie shot back.

“Technically, you three were summoned into _my_ timeline,” the Master interrupted. “Now come along, hand over the goods. I’m getting impatient.”

The Judoon put its hand out, clapping it heavily on the shoulder of the black jacket nearest it. The resident Doctor looked at it, lifting his sonic screwdriver. “Here. Don’t press any buttons.”

Mr Bow-tie straightened his arm but made no attempt to hand the piece of technology over. “You’ll have to come and get it. I can’t reach,” he said politely.

The Judoon simply took one step to its left, taking the proffered screwdriver. It took one more and then collected the last instrument, too.

“Don’t get those two blue ones mixed up,” Mr Brown Suit warned. “They’re not the same. I _will_ be getting that back.”

“Of course you will, Doctor,” the Master said brightly. “Right after this world belongs to me, and you three are tossed into the untempered schism to flail about unaided, I’ll throw them all in after you.”

“That’s actually very civil of you,” Mr Bow-tie said, surprised.

“Keys. Now,” the Master ordered.

The Judoon closed one hand, all three screwdrivers safely clenched within. It put its other palm up at Mr Brown Suit. He put his hand inside his jacket pocket, but withdrew a pair of glasses. Sliding them on, he inspected the Judoon at close range. “Is he paying you to work for him?” he asked curiously, his eyes going over the large rhino horn in front of his face.

“Because if he is - whatever he’s given you, we’ll _double_ it,” Mr Bow-tie said with a lot of theatrical gusto. The other two Doctors looked at him. He realised he was being stared at by two of his other selves and rolled his eyes from one to the other in uncertainty. “Uhm. Won’t we? It’s what they say in the movies,” he added lamely.

Mr Black Jacket tutted, shaking his head. “I must have fried a hell of a lot of brain cells regenerating into you two,” he sighed.

“Don’t think you can talk your way out of this,” the Master snapped. “Get on with it!”

Mr Brown Suit reached back into his jacket, pulling out a single key. He handed it over. “You know,” he said loudly, as the Judoon moved to the next Doctor, “this reminds me of the time you met five of me in Gallifrey’s Death Zone. Do you remember?” he smiled.

The Master grinned suddenly. “You left that Master for dead,” he said cheerfully, successfully killing Mr Brown Suit’s smile and attempt at friendship in one fell swoop. “Don’t worry, I’ll do the same for you. All of you,” he nodded.

“Where are your underlings?” Mr Bow-tie asked suddenly. “Your minions, peasants, labourers?”

“I don’t have any,” the Master snapped. “I learnt my lesson last time, thank you very much.”

Mr Brown Suit glanced at Mr Black Jacket, who was, at the risk of leaning forward, all ears. “And how was that?” he asked mildly.

The Master looked at him, then over at Mr Black Jacket. “Oh, I see!” he cried happily. “You want me to give away what happened, so that your _old_ self there can remember it before he gets there, and then you’ll know what I knew before he was you.” He paused significantly. “Shan’t.”

Mr Bow-tie looked at the Judoon now waving his hand slightly in front of him. “Look, I’ve already said, I don’t _have_ a key.”

“Search him,” the Master ordered. “Even is he is telling the truth, we can’t take the chance that he _does_ have one.”

The Judoon took the large cardboard box from under Mr Bow-tie’s arm. “Now wait a minute!” the Time Lord protested. “That cost me twenty quid!”

“That’s a bit steep,” Mr Brown Suit put in.

“I know! I told Dave I could buy a house for that, but he wouldn’t listen,” Mr Bow-tie went on. The Judoon set the box down carefully enough. Then it straightened, its hands opening the tweed jacket and feeling around. The Doctor within writhed and giggled suddenly, twisting and barking in laughter. “No! Stop! That tickles!” he cried.

The Judoon simply carried on until it was forced to grab the Doctor by the scruff of the neck and hold him still. The Time Lord still giggled and squirmed, but the Judoon managed to check all possible pockets, both in his jacket and his trousers. At last it let him go, standing back one.

The Master came forward, grabbing the Judoon’s bigger shoulder and hauling it to one side. “Well?” The Judoon shrugged and the Master eyed Mr Bow-tie with annoyance. “Where is it?”

“I told you, I don’t have one,” he said, pulling his shirt and bow-tie straight with a polite cough. “But then, you never have listened to anything I’ve said, have you?”

The Master stepped back. “You’ll never know how you’ve misunderstood me so severely.” He looked at the Judoon, then put a hand out and pushed him toward Mr Black Jacket. It put its palm out but the Time Lord raised his quickly, handing over the key. The Judoon turned and splayed three screwdrivers and two keys at the Master.

“Thank you,” he said curtly. He swept all five items from the hands and then pointed to the other Judoon. “Get back. Wait for me to call you.”

The Judoon simply turned on its heel and marched back to the circle of other soldiers, drawing its gun again and waiting.

The Master looked at the three Time Lords. “Well, now. I expect you’d like to see my experiment in action. You _will_ come with me, Doctors.”

“Or what?” Mr Black Jacket asked.

The Master grinned. “See the Judoon past my left shoulder? Take a look at the weapon she’s holding.”

All three Doctors peered around him. “Blimey!” Mr Brown Suit cried, aghast. “That’s a quantum-bitupirin scythe!”

“So you see,” the Mast said smugly, “if you don’t let me use your precious TARDISes, I’ll just destroy them. And you know I can. That scythe will hack the doors off and make very short work of the vortex containment chambers. Who knows - maybe it’ll blow _three_ holes in this universe. What do you think? Shall we try it and find out? After all, if I can’t have it, then _no-one_ can have it. Well? Shall we try it?”

The Doctors exchanged uneasy glances.

The Master grinned. “I didn’t think so. Now, Doctors - this way, please.” He backed up a few steps, his head swaying round to indicate the slim chink in the circle of Judoon. “Any time. I do have something of a deadline.”

“What kind?” Mr Brown Suit asked politely.

“You can try, but I’m not telling you _anything_ until we reach our destination,” he said, turning and following the three men to the break in the ring. They walked away, the Judoon turning and falling into line to march after the four Gallifreyans.

Across the car park, the back door to the pub opened. Margaret’s head popped out. “So it’s on then, is it?”

 


	4. FOUR

 

Margaret pushed her way back into the pub, ignoring the sound of the back door bouncing shut behind her. She went straight behind the bar.

“Now, what was it he said I had to do?”

Her hands went to the wooden counter at the back, underneath the rows of optics, that housed the spare shot glasses and pens and a plastic cocktail stirrer and a spare key she found on the floor and the stacks of people’s business cards and taxi firms’ adverts. She delved into the wad of paper, sorting through them as fast as her hurried hands could operate. At last she found the business card she wanted. Her fingers squeezed it in urgency. She felt in her cardigan pocket quickly and pulled out a mobile phone. She looked from it to the card in her other hand. It waited as if too excited to move.

“I’m not sure I should just do whatever he tells me,” she said under her breath, looking from card to phone and back again. She huffed. “Oh blow it.” She read the numbers from the business card and tapped them into the phone carefully. She pressed ‘call’ and put it to her ear.

 

ooOoo

 

The Master watched as fifteen Judoon filed past him. He stopped but they carried on, across the sizeable open space to the back of the barn. The lingering smell of horses and warm, wet hay assaulted the three Doctors as they ambled in followed by the rest of the complement. Finally everyone came to a stop. The Master folded his arms. He waited.

The three Doctors looked around, using nearly every conceivable angle.

“Oh,” Mr Bow-tie said quietly.

Mr Black Jacket and Mr Brown Suit looked at him. They found his head angled _upwards_ , his eyes wide and just the tiniest bit worried. They dared to turn their own heads and look at the ceiling.

A thin strand of gold was hovering just feet from the inside of the roof. It writhed slowly, turning and twisting as if trying to show off its glittering, pulsing outer shell. The light coming off it barely made it a few feet before running out of puff and dying in the blackness of the upper reaches. The wooden beams seemed to be trying to keep their distance through either awe or dread. Absolutely no sound emanated from the golden line, at odds with every instinct the three Doctors possessed.

“What is that?” Mr Black Jacket asked. “Have you brought us here to admire your decorations?”

Mr Bow-tie’s face scrunched up in distaste. “It’s a bit poor. Y’know I’ve heard IKEA do some lovely—”

“It’s a Bahhoff Web,” the Master interrupted.

Mr Brown Suit frowned. “We know Bahhoff Webs. This is _not_ a Bahhoff Web. It’s just one line.”

“Shows what _you_ know,” the Master shot back. “Take a good look, Doctors. Yesterday it was six inches long. Today, it’s six _feet_. And tomorrow? Tomorrow it’ll start growing _outwards_.”

“It’ll… cover this barn,” Mr Brown Suit said, calculations and permutations running through his head. “It’ll assimilate it, use its mass to grow again.”

“Eventually it’ll be big enough to encompass most of Yorkshire,” the Master said. “It’ll be swallowed up, churned into raw power for the Bahhoff Web, but then again this _is_ Yorkshire - who’s going to miss it?”

“But where would we get our Yorkshire Tea?” Mr Bow-tie asked, his face a picture of distressed upset that normally only stricken kittens could get away with.

“Switch to PG,” the Master snapped. “When this web has amassed enough power, I can use it to control the entire planet’s electricity supply. The internet, the phone networks, the very power in people’s homes - the machines that keep people alive in hospitals, the traffic lights, the street lamps—”

“The light that comes on when you open the fridge door?” Mr Bow-tie asked.

The Master stopped dead. He tilted his head at Mr Bow-tie. “There’s something very wrong with you, you know.”

“You can’t stop the light coming on when you open a fridge door,” Mr Brown Suit said in disgust. “That’s just rude.”

“What _are_ you talking about?” the Master spluttered. “I think the trip down here has rotted your brai—”

“It’s order. It’s ‘everything is ok with the world’,” Mr Black Jacket said firmly. “That light that comes on when you open the fridge? It’s always there. You have a bad day, you have a good day, your mates are in, you’re on your own - the fridge is always there. It’s a symbol of everything running smoothly, of calm in the chaos, of perspective and reason. The light tells you that everything is running as it should in the background, that life goes on, that as bad as things look right now, that light will still be there tomorrow because _you_ will still be there tomorrow, because you have to carry on as if it will _always_ be there for _all_ the tomorrows. The light always - _always_ \- has to come on. Otherwise, what are we doing it for?”

There was a long silence.

At last the Master let his frown open up. “The Time War did things to you, didn’t it?”

Mr Black Jacket glared at him. “We’re not letting you feed this Bahhoff Web. End of story.”

“Yeah - um - quick question,” Mr Brown Suit said, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out his glasses. He pushed them on his nose as he stared upwards. “How have you been feeding it so far? It would need immense power, life even, to grow so fast.”

The Master simply waited, an evil grin on his face.

“Oh no,” Mr Black Jacket groaned. The other two looked at him. “Smell that?” he asked deliberately. The other two took a sniff. “Wet hay and manure and food and horses?” he prompted. The other two nodded. “ _So where are the horses?_ ” Mr Black Jacket stressed.

Mr Bow-tie’s face pulled down in a rictus of horror. “Oh that’s just _evil_.”

The Master tilted his head. “Can we get on with this?”

“Get on with what?” Mr Brown Suit snapped, clearly angry. He ripped off his glasses, glaring at the mad Gallifreyan. “Tell us what you’re doing here, and be very precise. We’re not amused any more.”

The Master chuckled, clapping his hands to rub them briskly. “At last. The gloves comes off. Well then, gentlemen - listen very carefully.” He turned and waved a hand at the Judoon. They all filed away, aiming for the back of the barn. Twenty-nine rhino-like soldiers disappeared through the door in the wooden wall, tramping outside to the dark field surrounding the structure. One, however, remained a few feet behind the Master.

An almost inaudible tinkling sound made him turn on the balls of his feet to appraise the leftover soldier. “Mavis, dear. What is it?”

The Judoon put a hand to a flap in the armour. She fished around inside before pulling out a square grey device.

“For me?” the Master said. He took the device and put it to his ear. “Yes. Hold on.” He walked away from the group, leaving Mavis to eye the three Time Lords. The Master was scowling, walking around in a small circle. “Yes, yes. Thank you _ever_ so much. Just until I’m done, yes.” He pressed something on the device and walked back to the soldier. He pocketed the device and rubbed his hands.

“Ho-sho-yo-no-jo-no-to,” Mavis hurled.

“Yes, she’s on her way. Don’t worry,” the Master said. “You can go.”

“Sno-go-ro-fo-lo-ro-bo.”

“These men can’t harm me. Off you go.”

“Gro-so-bo-lo-ro-ro-fo.”

“Really. I’ll be fine. Go tell your men to guard this barn. We’re nearly done.” He put out a hand and patted her impressive armour just under her chin. “You’ll be free soon.”

The Judoon looked over at the three men. Then she looked down at the Master. She huffed and turned smartly, stomping off to the front door of the barn.

The Master cleared his throat, turning back to the three Doctors - who were watching him with varying expressions of damnation. “What?” he tutted. “Now. To business.” He put his hands in his trouser pockets, wandering a few steps closer to the men. “See, this Bahhoff Web is perfect. It’ll grow, it’ll start feeding off the power, it’ll give me everything I want. _However_ ,” he heaved, turning his back to them to pace around in a small circle, his gaze on his feet. “When it gets close to the point that it can assimilate the entire planet, I need to force it to instead orbit the Earth at a safe distance - put the Earth in a bubble, as it were. That’s where your TARDISes come in.”

“You don’t want to assimilate them,” Mr Black Jacket said suddenly. “You want to use them as controlling devices. A remote control for your web.”

“And one TARDIS won’t do it,” Mr Bow-tie said. “You need one to regulate the power. Another to direct it. Another one to control _those_ two, to act as a base of operations… And yours would have to be outside the area that the web controls to prevent it from interfering. It’d be close-by, obviously, but outside the affected field.”

The Master shook a finger at him. “Sly, Doctor, I’ll give you that. I’m not telling you where I parked mine. So there.” He straightened. “Now. I’ll just go get your TARDISes so I can start putting some calculations into effect. You three will stay here.”

“You’re just going to walk off and leave us?” Mr Brown Suit asked.

“Yes,” the Master shrugged. “You have no screwdrivers, no TARDIS, no annoying, pesky companions, no way to stop me - and let’s be honest, Mavis and her soldiers are surrounding this barn with strict instructions to shoot and kill anyone who isn’t me if they try to get out.” He paused to look up. “In an hour or two the web will feed off you three, which is a very nice bonus for me. The combined yous will accelerate its growth, so Yorkshire will be gone in about… ooh…” He looked at his watch. “Breakfast.” He turned to go.

“You’re not even going to tie us up?” Mr Black Jacket asked.

“Can’t be bothered,” the Master said. “And what would it change?” He went to the front door, opening it a crack. He waved a hand outside, then stepped out after it. His head popped back in. “Cheerio. I would say it’s been fun, but you’ve been really _really_ annoying for far too long. Don’t enjoy the afterlife for Time Lords, if there is one. In fact, I hope you’re _miserable_.”

The door closed. The three Doctors looked at each other.

A voice was barely heard from beyond the door: “Mavis - keep watch over them. And if just one of those goody-two-shoes so much as opens this door, you bop the obstreperous git on the head and then call me straight after. Got it?”

It went silent.

Mr Bow-tie swayed to his left and right, his large eyes taking in the attitudes of the two men either side of him. “Thoughts, anyone?”

“Mavis,” Mr Brown Suit said with a nod. “She’s the key.”

“The web,” Mr Black Jacket argued. “We need to stop it growing right now.”

Mr Bow-tie tilted to a stop, his hands paddling at thin air in worry. “Oh. I was going to say the Betamax machine.”

The other two Doctors looked at him in consternation. “The Betamax machine?” they chorused.

Mr Bow-tie’s eyes went round with apologetic hope. “There are pieces in there that can control and enhance chameleon circuits. Perhaps other parts can—”

“But Mavis is in charge of the—”

“The web will expand and take out—”

“Have we even checked the Judoon are out there?” Mr Bow-tie argued. He spun and stalked off toward the door.

Mr Black Jacket frowned. “We just heard him—”

Mr Brown Suit sighed rather resignedly. “Save your breath.”

Mr Black Jacket went for the front door and Mr Brown Suit went to the bales of hay on his right. He checked them over carefully, shifting them to get to the side of the barn. A close inspection of the walls took him right round to the back door, whereupon he found Mr Bow-tie with his head still stuck out of the gap he had created.

“—No trouble! It’s just it’s a bit parky in here and I was wondering if you had any tea!” he was shouting. “No? Jammy dodgers then? —How rude! This is against the Geneva Convention and you know it!”

Mr Brown Suit tapped on his back.

Mr Bow-tie didn’t budge. “Well I know it’s not _technically_ a war, Mavis, but the fact is it’s us against the Master - always has been. It is a _little_ bit war-y, you have to admit!”

Mr Brown Suit tapped again. “Let me speak to her.”

“Oh have it your way! Oooh - that was rude, even for a Judoon!” Mr Bow-tie shouted out of the open door. “I’m warning you Mavis - one day when you look back on this you really won’t laugh!”

Mr Brown Suit gripped his arm and yanked him back from the door. “Bit harsh, don’t you think?” he accused, his eyebrows a low, angry line of judgement.

Mr Bow-tie straightened his jacket as he sniffed. “Stop thinking I should act like you. That was _old_ me,” he said. Mr Brown Suit just eyed him, his left eyebrow climbing higher. Mr Bow-tie grinned suddenly, pointing at his face. “There it goes - the ‘I’m not impressed with you, Sunshine’ eyebrow!” His face and good cheer collapsed in an instant. “Oh. You’re doing it at _me_.” He clasped his hands together, the overlapping fingers rubbing each other gingerly. His lower lip stuck out just slightly. “I don’t think I like that idea.”

Mr Brown Suit reached past him and opened the door wider. Bolts of energy and light whammed into the other side. The two of them slammed it closed hastily.

“Could you be _any_ less helpful?” Mr Black Jacket demanded, just feet behind them. “I’m checking the front door and you two are playing at Benny Hill and Jerry Lewis,” he added. The two Doctors turned on the spot and glared at the third. He simply folded his arms. “You - Elbows,” he said, turning his attention to Mr Bow-tie. “Think you can keep Mavis and her men distracted whilst we tunnel out of here?”

“Tunnel?” Mr Brown Suit echoed. “That’ll take too long. If I could just speak to Mavis—”

“She’s not in a very talkative mood,” Mr Bow-tie asserted. “She was a bit impolite about our mother just now.” The faces of the other two Time Lords suddenly reflected his own outrage. “Look - if she’s a no-go, then what’s next? Because personally I do not want my last moments to be me - us - swallowed up by a giant golden shoelace. It’ll really put a dampener on my timeline. You two still have grand stories to be a part of. Now - what do we do?”

The three men looked at each other.

 

ooOoo

 

“‘Just until I’m done’ he says,” Margaret tutted, pulling her long brown coat around her more tightly. “Too flamin’ cold to be out here worrying about rhino blokes anyway.”

She closed the back door to the pub and locked it securely. Then she turned and stalked her way across the car park, to the gap in the hedge. Squeezing through, she looked around the fields beyond the narrow, tarmac’d lane. A single structure caught her eye and she pulled her hood up to stave off some of the cool, crisp evening air. She began to walk.

Until a head popped out of the hedge next to her - a large, grey head accompanied by a pair of hands holding a very big gun of black persuasion.

“Oh dear,” she groaned. She cleared her throat and threw her palms up in surrender. “Oh no! What’s going on here? You don’t look human! What do I do!” she called in her best scared voice.

The Judoon stepped out from the hedgerow, waving the gun first at her, then toward the barn a few hundred feet further along the narrow road. “Fro-so-bo-lo-ro-do-mo,” it commanded.

She blinked. “Say that again, love. I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Fro-so-bo-lo-ro-do-mo,” the Judoon ordered.

“Oh! Hang on a tick,” she said, dropping one hand into her coat pocket. The Judoon lifted the gun higher, aiming at her head. “Wait!” she cried. Her hand came out slowly to show a black leather item, that was either resigned to being very sad and lonely, or just limp from overuse. She lifted it to show it off, and the Judoon let the gun drop a little. “It’s so I can understand you. Now which one was it,” she said to herself as her thumb pressed at one of the buttons on top. It made a rude noise and she jumped. “Nope.” She pressed another and a weird mist came out of a side vent for a second. She waved at it, coughing. “Sorry! He didn’t tell me which one, he just said ‘try the top ones’,” she said.

The Judoon let the gun drop completely, watching in apparent disbelief.

Margaret pressed another button. “This is the only one left.”

The Judoon jumped and its mouth opened. “Ho-ko-blo-mo-so-to-zo?”

“Yes! Yes I can understand you _now_ ,” she grinned. “It’s this thing. It’s a translator.” She turned it round and slapped it on her wrist, finding a buckle and doing it up. “Nice of him to leave it me last time he came through. Some men are all about gifts, eh?” she said pleasantly.

“Yo-fro-lo-gro-do-ko-wo,” the Judoon said.

“Ngaw,” Margaret said in sympathy, looking up at the large rhino man in front of her. “Sounds like you have some experience with gifts that outlast their giver, eh?”

“Fro-mo-to-lo-flo-bro-mo.”

“Yeah, love. Me too. So, where do you want me?” she asked gamely, putting her hands back up in surrender. The Judoon indicated the road and the barn beyond. She nodded. “Okie dokie, pet. Take me to your leader.”

 

.


	5. FIVE

 

The three Doctors were sitting on the hay bales as if their bones had been replaced by marshmallow. Mr Bow-tie had his elbow on his knee and the attached hand under his chin, as his eyebrows pinched at each other in disquiet. Mr Black Jacket was staring up at the Bahhoff Web with a brow that told tales of furious concentration. Mr Brown Suit was staring off into space, one eyebrow raised in pre-occupied hard work.

“Well I don’t know about you,” Mr Bow-tie said suddenly, “but I’m stuck.”

“We all are,” Mr Black Jacket said rather testily. “Stop talking and think.”

Mr Brown Suit simply looked at them both. He went back to staring at nothing as plans and consequences went through his head.

The front door creaked open suddenly. They leapt to their respective feet to see Mavis stride in with another soldier and a human woman.

“Margaret!” Mr Brown Suit cried. “Are you alright?”

“Oh I’m perfectly fine,” she said cheerfully. “This nice chap walked me up the lane to make sure I was safe.”

The three men gawked.

Margaret turned to the soldier behind her. “Thanks, Reg. And I do hope your missus comes around. She sounds like a smashin’ lass. It’d be a such a shame if she went off with that other bloke.”

“Sto-fro-glo-mo-do-so-go,” ‘Reg’ said.

She nodded. “Ok then. Ta for the walk.”

He looked at Mavis. She turned and gestured to the door. He nodded and off he went, letting himself out and closing it behind him.

“And you,” Margaret went on, looking at Mavis. “Are you going to tell me why you’re so upset? I mean, Reg I can understand, but unless you have a missus or a husband as treats you like that—”

“So-fro-ko-lo-mo-ro-do,” Mavis said.

“There’s no need to be like that,” Margaret said. “I’m a barmaid, love, I’ve heard it all. If you don’t want to talk about it, then I won’t pry. I’m just sayin’ - you allow these things to build up inside you and they fester, you mark my words.”

Mavis looked at the three men. She turned back to Margaret. “Do-ho-gro-fro-lo-do-to?”

“Well the boss told me to get down here and babysit this lot until he was done, so here I am,” Margaret smiled.

The three Doctors shared glances of worry and betrayal.

Mavis looked around the barn. She turned back to Margaret. “Wo-yo-lo-to-so-wo-mo.”

“Oh - good point,” Margaret said. She put her hand in her coat pocket and produced a mobile phone. “I should update him before we go much further.” Mavis began to speak but Margaret waved her empty hand. “I promised the boss I’d always help, after all, and I do keep my word.”

Mavis appeared appeased. She gestured to the back door of the barn with her head. Margaret grinned as she pressed numbers on the phone keypad. She followed the Judoon without even looking back. The two of them went through the door. It closed.

The three Doctors stared at the locked exit.

“Pardon my language,” Mr Black Jacket said, “but what the Skaro was that?”

 

ooOoo

 

The Master stopped in the car park. He fished two keys out of his pocket, taking his time as he looked up at the three solemn shapes in front of him. The TARDIS to his left, with her St. John’s Ambulance sticker, regarded him with haughty distain. The middle one, a small arrow hole in the outer shell of her pseudo wood, sent baleful waves of distrust and anger. The one to his right simply sat and watched, a little intrigued despite herself.

The Master stared.

The TARDISes stared back.

“Finally,” the Master said, relishing the moment. “I _will_ command you. All incarnations of you.”

The TARDISes _glared_.

The Master grinned. “So—”

An almost inaudible tinkling sound interrupted the feeling of foreboding.

The Master put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out the square grey device. He put it to his ear. “Evening.” He paused, listening. “Yes. I shan’t be long now.” He slid the device back into his left pocket. “Now then, where were we? Oh yes - the Doctor and his TARDIS.” He rubbed his hands together in glee. “You’d think that he’d have learnt not to underestimate me.” He stepped up to the first TARDIS on his right. He slid a key into the lock and turned it without trouble. The door creaked open at his gentle push. He eased it right open and removed the key to stand back and admire the timeship beyond for a moment. Then he turned to the middle TARDIS, again inserting the key and opening it easily. He stood the door wide open before turning to the last TARDIS. “I don’t have a key,” he said in a high, mocking voice. “You need to snap your fingers,” he went on. “Well, _Doctor_ ,” he spat, “you forget that these TARDISes are all the same one, just at different points in its timeline. So the key that opens one…” He pulled the key from the middle TARDIS and advanced on the last locked door, “will open _all_ of them.”

He rammed the key in the lock. He turned it.

Or rather, _tried to_.

It wouldn’t budge.

“Come on, you stubborn scrap pile!” he snarled, ripping the key out. He pushed it in again, wiggling and wrenching, grunting in his efforts to turn it. He struggled and swore.

Suddenly the key jerked in his fingers. He let out a giant bark of a laugh as it turned. He stood back to admire the key now at a horizontal rest.

“Now,” he said with a huge, evil grin, “you are _mine_.”

The key shot upright; the door locked.

“No! How _dare_ you play with me!” he hurled. “You unlock that door right now, you overgrown, bulky, _old_ excuse for an imprimatur-aided device!”

The doors of the other two TARDISes whammed shut. He jumped - before he heard the locks clicking back into their fake barrels. A second’s pause and then the unmistakable sounds of three sets of deadlocks slamming into place overlapped each other.

He raised his clenched fists and howled in fury. “How _dare_ you!”

 

ooOoo

 

“What about using the Bahhoff Web’s own power to get out of here?” Mr Brown Suit asked. “We could jerry-rig a device to redirect the energy. That would siphon off some of the massing energy _and_ help us escape.”

“It wouldn’t even slow it down,” Mr Bow-tie said offhand.

“I don’t see anything here that would lend itself to a cosmic energy siphon,” Mr Black Jacket said. “Without a decent screwdriver between us, we’re pretty stuck.”

“There must be _something_ ,” Mr Brown Suit tutted. “Are you two just going to sit here until we’re absorbed by a Bahhoff Web?”

Mr Black Jacket got to his feet. “I’m going to look around to see if there are any tools hanging about that might help us.”

“I think you might be right about Mavis,” Mr Bow-tie said, as if to himself. “She might be easier to reason with than a cosmic shoelace. And Margaret - what happened there?”

Mr Brown Suit paused, suddenly quite miserable. “I thought she was a cheerful barmaid. Turns out she’s with the Master.”

“Do you know what’s weird?” Mr Black Jacket asked, wandering to the far wall.

“Pelluvian oranges,” Mr Brown Suit said.

“Rigellian traffic signals,” Mr Bow-tie put in.

Mr Black Jacket twisted round to glare at them in turn. “What’s weird is that the Judoon have to be elsewhere when he explains his plan. Does anyone else think he’s using them for something they really wouldn’t agree with?”

“When does he not?” Mr Bow-tie said with a face made of two parts apology to one part disgust. “If you’re suggesting we find a way to tell Mavis what he’s up to, so she switches sides, then I’m all ears.” He looked at Mr Black Jacket quickly. “No offence.”

He scowled. “At least I don’t have a chin like a great white shark.”

Mr Brown Suit put his hands up hastily. “Now now. We can all have a good nit-picking later. Right now we have to escape.”

There was a wooden creak. They looked over to the front door.

“You really don’t want to do that, Doctors,” Margaret said, stepping through the door. “He wants you to wait right here.”

Mavis came in behind her, closing the door and waiting, watching the Time Lords with her gun raised.

“You,” Mr Black Jacket said. “Margaret - I thought you were just a barmaid.”

“Well,” she said, lifting her hands as if she were about to twirl in display, “as you can see, I’m not. Funny, really. I moved here from Manchester to get away from all the drama.”

“How’s this for drama,” Mr Brown Suit said. “If we don’t stop this Bahhoff Web soon, it’s going to eat up the whole of Yorkshire. And then Lancashire. And then everywhere else.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” Margaret scoffed. “Why do you think I’m doing whatever the boss tells me?”

“Bo-ho-bo-to-yo-to-ko,” Mavis said.

“He told me to babysit them, and that’s what I’m going to do.” She paused to look at her watch. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Mavis,” Mr Bow-tie said, sidling up to the Judoon as if from nowhere. “Ever been to the Moon? The one outside of this planet, I mean?”

“Tell me you weren’t there, Mavis,” Mr Brown Suit said irritably.

Margaret put a hand up. “Calm it, lads. She hasn’t been part of any proper Judoon platoon for a while now. This is her first trip to the Sol system, too, so no, she hasn’t been anywhere near our moon.” The Doctors looked at her in surprise. “What? I’d never met a Judoon before tonight. Mavis and I have had a chat or two whilst we were waiting for the boss. He’s very busy, you know.”

“He gets around,” Mr Brown Suit said, somewhat resentfully.

“Doesn’t he just,” Margaret winked. “And to think I was a bit sceptical of him at first. But there you go; you live and learn.”

“Why are you doing this, Margaret?” Mr Black Jacket asked. “The man’s a maniac.”

“And I expected more from you,” Mr Brown Suit, his glare of omnipotent Time Lord vengeance firmly glued to Mavis. “You’re supposed to be a Judoon - you’re supposed to uphold justice and peace.”

“For a price,” Mr Bow-tie put in quietly.

“Sshh,” Mr Brown Suit hissed.

“Don’t you shush me,” Mr Bow-tie shot back.

“Doctors,” Margaret said, over their sudden bickering. They paused to look at her. “Mavis has a very long, very sad story. What’s even sadder is that you won’t be here long enough to hear it. Suffice to say, being a hired peacekeeper is really not what it seems.”

“And you justify your role in all this with that, do you?” Mr Brown Suit accused the Judoon hotly.

Margaret’s hands went out in some kind of calming gesture. “Really, Doctor - I expected more from _you_. The way he talks about you, you’d think you were some kind of righteous do-gooder on behalf of mankind,” she scoffed. All three Doctors stopped and blinked in surprise. She nodded. “Oh yes. I’ve had to listen to it all - ‘the Doctor saved this planet’ and ‘the Doctor and I have had our arguments’,” she went on. “Lord knows I’ve wanted to brain him once or twice. But then, you can’t really, not when he’s so lovely.”

“Lovely?” Mr Black Jacket spluttered.

“Excuse me,” Mr Brown Suit said, “but who _are_ you?”

“Margaret Newcomb, landlady and holder of the liquor licence,” she said cheerfully.

“I think what he means is who _are_ you?” Mr Bow-tie asked.

She grinned. “I just run a pub is all. It’s won awards, you know. I’m on all the best lists.”

“That’s fascinating,” Mr Black Jacket said, “but—”

“—The Michelin guide, the Little Chef map, the Yorkshire tourist board’s Guide to Hostelries—”

“Wonderful,” Mr Bow-tie put in. “So—”

“—The Yorkshire Brewer’s Guide to Eating Out, the Drinker’s Best Choice winners’ list—”

“Margaret,” Mr Brown Suit said.

“—The Shadow Proclamation’s Guide to Safe Harbours—”

“The _what?_ ” all three Doctors chorused.

“And, not least of all, top of the list of safe places to stay overnight - however long a night actually lasts - of the Torchwood Group.”

The roof creaked. Three Doctors, Margaret and Mavis looked up. Dust showered down into their faces as a plank in the roof off to the right of the shining Bahhoff Web moved and disappeared upwards. A face pushed itself down into the gap, looking straight down into the barn.

“Now this looks like it could be a _very_ interesting night,” winked Captain Jack Harkness.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

The Master stood under the harsh car park lights. The tarmac beneath him waited in horrible fascination as he folded his arms. His narrowed eyes darted from one TARDIS door to another.

He scowled.

The TARDISes stared.

His jaw stuck out.

The TARDISes glared.

“Oh alright!” he raged. He whipped his arms free and went to the first TARDIS. “You think you’re so clever,” he spat. “I’ll show you - _I’m_ the clever one round here.”

He unlocked the first TARDIS. The door swung open without him even pushing it. He took a tentative step forward. The TARDIS in the middle creaked. He looked over and saw the door open by itself. He looked back at the first TARDIS, and the mild aquamarine light pulsing from inside. Then he looked to the middle door. He hurried toward it.

The end TARDIS’ door swung open. The Master stopped short to watch it. Then his head swirled around to survey the other two open doors. He took a step forward.

The middle door slammed shut.

He bounced back in surprise. He rushed for the left door.

It hammered closed.

He growled something impolite. He raced for the door far to his right. He reached it just in time to have it slam in his face. “No! Stop it!” he shouted.

The left door opened. He turned and ran.

It closed.

The right door opened. He bolted for the entrance.

It closed.

All three doors opened.

He lunged for the middle one.

It slammed shut.

But his leap carried him right past it and took him into the open door on the right. His fingers clamped round the open door edge as he barked out a laugh of triumph.

“Ha _haaaaa!_ ” he yelled. “Got you! _Told_ you I was cleverer than you, you obsolete piece of—”

The door whammed shut. With his fingers still inside.

“Aaaaaaa _aaaaarrrrrgghhhh!_ ”

 

ooOoo

 

Jack Harkness swung his boots down through the gap in the barn roof. “Nice lighting you got here,” he smirked past the shining Bahhoff Web. He slithered round it and landed in a heap in the thin smattering of hay.

The three Doctors - and Margaret and Mavis - advanced on the mess of dark blue and white until Jack’s head popped up and he began to heave himself to his feet.

“Wow - you and you,” Jack said, toward Mr Black Jacket and then Mr Brown Suit. “And… hi,” he said, looking Mr Bow-tie up and down. “Wait - did you come in the same TARDIS?”

“Technically, yes,” Mr Brown Suit said.

Jack’s head stuck out sideways suddenly, as if all of its dreams of being a horizontal periscope had finally come true. “Mavis - is that you? You look _great_ ,” he gushed. The Judoon let her gun fall to her right side. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Jack pulled his coat straight and weaved through the rest of the watchers, making for her. “Really - you look _fantastic_ ,” he said. “What are you up to these days? Still busy rebelling?”

“So-tro-to-go-no-fo-mo,” she barked.

“Uh-huh. So you asked this guy - _guys_ \- for help?” he asked. “Why didn’t you just come to me?”

“Yo-wo-bo-so-to-no-fo.”

“ _Never_ too busy for you, sweetheart,” he said, his face one of intense upset. “So tell me, what’s going on? You freeing these four or what? Because if you’re off the clock soon, you and I could pick up where we—”

“Ja-ack,” came a warning voice from behind him. He spun to find Mr Brown Suit with his arms folded and his right eyebrow hiding very high under his fringe. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Later,” Jack winked at Mavis. He turned to face the others. “Margaret called me. Said she’d seen these space rhinos and a ‘dodgy bloke’ talking to what she described as ‘a professor, a bloke with ears and a hair monster in a sharp suit’.”

“Oi,” Margaret protested.

Jack shrugged. “She did. ’Course, she didn’t know who you were. She also said you guys looked like you needed my help. So,” he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them briskly, “what are you doing with a Bahhoff Web and how is Mavis mixed up in this?”

“Why am I not surprised that you know Mavis?” Mr Brown Suit sighed.

“We met a while ago, didn’t we, Mave?” Jack said with a grin. “She was a full-time Judoon back then, taking orders, arresting people, not caring whose side she was hired by.”

“Ko-ro-do-to-mo-yo-ro,” Mavis nodded.

“ _He_ did?” Mr Black Jacket asked. “ _He_ got you to leave and start a resistance movement to stop Judoon from being brain-washed soldiers?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Jack said, his face dropping.

“He’s nothing if not the head of the Free Will fan club,” Mr Bow-tie said offhand.

“ _Thank_ you… uhm…?” Jack said.

Mr Bow-tie straightened suddenly. “That’s right - haven’t met me yet. Sorry. Yes. I’m the Doctor. The new one.”

“Nice,” Jack nodded.

“I know,” Mr Bow-tie beamed, hooking his thumbs in his red braces.

“Anyway,” Mr Black Jacket said, loudly enough for everyone to look at him. “What are we going to do to stop the Master and his shiny shoelace of doom?” He pointed upwards deliberately.

“The Master’s here?” Jack asked quickly, his face darkening. “ _Here?_ ”

“Woah, now, hang on,” Mr Brown Suit said. “The Doctor - the other me - he’s right. We have to stop the Master’s pet web from expanding and taking out Yorkshire. _Then_ we can talk about—”

“Taking out Yorkshire? But where will you get your Yorkshire Tea?” Jack asked, appalled.

“That’s what I said,” Mr Bow-tie put in quietly, looking at the fingernails of his right hand.

“Listen,” Mr Black Jacket urged. “We have to contain this Bahhoff Web before it expands any more than it has. We have to find and stop the Master.”

“How about we give him a good kicking for what he did to the Earth _first?_ ” Jack said, his face angry.

“Ja-ack,” Mr Brown Suit warned. “We stop this Bahhoff Web business fist. Then we find a way to get over your need for revenge. It never ends well.”

Jack glowered at him.

Mr Brown Suit’s eyes went large, round, and very judgmental.

Jack huffed.

Mr Brown Suit raised his eyebrows. “Bahhoff Web. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Jack said, somewhat resentfully. He shook his head as he turned to look up. “Does anyone have anything that would contain that?”

There was a smattering of ‘nopes’ from four voices.

“Wo-ho-so-to-mo-ho-fo,” Mavis said.

“Not even my little hand jar could contain it,” Mr Brown Suit sniffed.

“Wo-ho-so-to-mo-ho-fo,” Mavis said again.

Mr Bow-tie shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well I’ve got a _few_ things…” He tailed off just as everyone looked at him. “…But they’re all in the TARDIS.”

“Wo-ho-so-to-mo-ho-fo,” Mavis urged. Jack pointed toward Mavis and looked at Mr Brown Suit.

“There has to be something,” Mr Black Jacket grumped. “Think harder.”

“Wo-ho-so-to-mo-ho-fo!” Mavis all but shouted.

“She’s got a quantum lock-box!” Jack repeated.

“You have?” Mr Bow-tie asked.

Mr Black Jack slapped a hand into his own forehead. “Of course she does! How else did she get it here in the first place?”

The two other Doctors ‘oh’ed, rather sheepishly.

“So what is this lock-box, Mave?” Jack asked.

“Fro-so-do-ko-lo-fro-bo,” she said.

Mr Bow-tie paddled his fingers at thin air in excitement as he grinned from ear to ear. “Excellent! Just what we need - a quantum energy-absorbing safety deposit evidence box thingy.” His head zipped up and down and left and right like a short-sighted hummingbird. “Do you have it with you?”

“To-bro-flo-gro-ho-ko-zo,” she shrugged.

“Of _course_ it’s back in your troop transport,” Mr Bow-tie said. “It’s never _easy_ , is it?”

“But if Mavis is on our side now, we can just leave,” Mr Brown Suit said. “We split up. Mavis, Jack and Margaret can go for the quantum lock-box. We’ll go for the Master.”

Mavis raised the gun. “Bo-go-ko-lo-so-to-do.”

“Oh come on Mavis,” Mr Bow-tie said. “Jack’s on our side too, and _he’s_ obviously not your enemy. —Wait, why are _we_ your enemy again?”

“The Master is paying her,” Margaret said quietly.

“Money? You’re doing this for money?” Mr Brown Suit spluttered. He glared with all the mighty judgement of a seriously pissed-off Time Lord.

“ _Not_ money,” Margaret said. She looked at Mavis. The Judoon let her head hang as far as it would go. Margaret looked back at Mr Brown Suit. “He’s freeing her unit. All thirty Judoon will be officially scrubbed from the Judoon HQ records. They’ll be as they are now - free to be their own Judoon. But with the added bonus of _not_ being on a search-and-arrest list for treason against High Command.”

The three Doctors exchanged a rather frazzled look.

“Why didn’t you come to one of us?” Mr Black Jacket asked. “Do you really think we’d have asked anything in return for helping you?”

Mavis began to speak, but Margaret held her hand up. “It’s ok, Mavis. He’s just angry you’ve been used like this.” She turned on Mr Black Jacket. “She wasn’t on the Moon that day, but she wishes she had been. Then maybe she’d have known who you were.”

Mr Black Jacket threw his arms out in mystification. “What moon?”

Mr Brown Suit and Mr Bow-tie looked over at him. “Spoilers,” they chorused.

Mr Black Jacket shot them a look that could have burnt a hole in the wall beyond them had they ducked. Then he turned to look at Mavis. “Look. Bottom line - we have to stop that man from ruining this planet. Tell me - did you know that was his plan?”

“Do-go-ho-ro-to-so-zo,” she said.

Mr Black Jacket smiled. “Fantastic. Then _we’ll_ get you scrubbed off the Judoon arrest list just as soon as we’ve all stopped this latest madness of the Master’s. Agreed?”

Mavis pushed her gun into its large holster. “So-fo-gro-ko-lo-po-bo,” she nodded.

Jack grinned. “Great. Now, what do we do first?”

 

ooOoo

 

The Master landed face-down on the entry ramp in the TARDIS. The door attempted to slam shut, but all it achieved was to smash him in the ribs and clamp him in place. “ _Aaargh!_ Get off me you _garbage scow!_ ” he raged. He clawed his way up the ramp. His hands wrenched him along, slipping through the door still trying to slice him in half. He struggled to drag his feet in through the faux wooden door. They scrabbled in; the door whammed shut. “Ha _haaa!_ ” he cried, triumphant. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling.

A loud chime, a muted scream of angry protest, echoed around the control room. The lighting changed colour, draining the happy aquamarine and replacing it with a bright white atmosphere of vengeful anger.

The Master squinted, covering his eyes to block out the harsh light. “Alright! Stop!” he called. “You’ve failed. I got in. Get over it.” He pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his sleeves. “Honestly. So unnecessary, this behaviour. Cloister bells and door antics. So… unscientific.”

He went up the ramp to the Time Rotor. A cursory look told him to put his right hand out to a globe in a socket, manipulating it to a new position. He let go to flip a switch just to the top of it. A noise made him look back at the globe - just in time to see it roll back to its original position. The switch flicked itself off.

“Now now,” the Master said patiently. “Don’t be like that. You lost. It’s not your fault. Your Time Lord should have been better. This is in no way your fault.” He turned the globe and flipped the switch again, then pulled down a lever that looked like it had been stolen from a one-armed bandit in Las Vegas.

The globe spun back. The switch flipped itself down. The lever rose to its original resting place.

The Master let out a long huff of irritation. “Come on, old girl. You know, you and me have an awful lot in common. We’re both old, we’re both scientists - and we both steal things.” He went through the three controls again and waited. They all flipped back again. “Oh come on! You know this won’t actually accomplish anything!”

He adjusted all three instruments again - before he reached over and grabbed at three more switches. They flipped and swished, clicked and whooshed. He raced around the Time Rotor console and hit three more instruments. The Rotor began to churn upwards - until it stopped dead. All the controls reset themselves.

“ _Aaarrgh!_ You flipping annoying piece of flipping flip! How dare you flipping intervene!” he shouted. His hands went in his hair and he stamped his foot - twice. “And _stop_ filtering out my swearing! I do it for a flipping reason!”

A quiet trilling noise made him pause. He listened; it tinkled again. He gasped and went through his pockets before finding the communications device. Ripping it from his trouser pocket, he went straight to the Time Rotor console and set it down at a sufficient angle. His hands ran through his hair hastily, putting it back into place. Then he reached out and pressed the blinking green button at the top of the device.

The black glass facia blinked on. A woman’s face filled the screen - an older woman with long, russet hair and a smile a mile wide. She leant closer to the screen, peering at the Master’s harassed face.

“Well, you look like flip,” she said dismissively. “Am I to conclude that you’re having trouble, my dear?”

“Everything is moving along as I said it would,” he said defensively. He pulled his suit jacket straight. “I have the three TARDISes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look where I am,” he said irritably.

Her eyes went past him, left and right. She leant back away from her side of the screen. “Hmm. And the Doctors - are they going to die slowly?”

“Oh yes. They’re directly under the Bahhoff Web. In about…” He paused to check his watch. “…Half an hour they’ll be assimilated into energy. The combined life force of _three_ Time Lords should accelerate the Web as planned.”

“It’d better,” she said, her smile gone. “Now. What about your minions? Is their demise also assured?”

“The Judoon have no idea what’s going on.”

“And that stupid female in charge? Does she think she’s actually going to get new lives for herself and her unit?”

The Master’s smile began to sag. “Mavis is under that impression, yes.”

“You bothered to learn her name? Psshht,” the woman scoffed. “You’re getting weak.”

“The plan will succeed.”

“Are you _sure?_ ” she demanded, ice nipping at her tone. “I’ve come too far to have you flip this up, my dear.”

“Of course I’m sure—”

“Let me be clear,” she said, leaning toward the screen a little way. “When I’m angry, I look like _this_.” She paused to re-arrange her expression into one of fury so severe that the Master nearly took a step back. “And when I’m pleased with how things are going, my face looks like _this_.” Again she paused, but this time her expression was one of pleasant smugness. “When my face looks _angry_ , I do things I _don’t_ regret later - to people who let me down.”

The man bristled. “ _You_ needed _my_ help. You didn’t just pick the first person up off the street - you came and found _me_. I was quite happy on Nifoodort Nixa, experimenting on their lizards, you know. I didn’t ask to get pulled into this.”

“No, but you jumped at it fast enough when it involved the opportunity to experiment on a real live TARDIS - _and_ remove three Doctors from existence. Really, my dear, you undervalue your sense of vengeance,” she snapped. She huffed out a breath, leaning back in her chair and flicking hair over her shoulder. “Anyway. Tell me everything’s on schedule and I can pack my Angry Face away for now.”

“Everything’s on schedule,” he said dismissively.

Her pleasant expression disappeared. “Everything is on schedule _what?_ ” she demanded.

The man straightened slowly, as if eyeing a coiled snake. “Everything is on schedule… Master.”

“That’s better,” she said with a bright smile. “I _do_ like it when you use my name, Rani.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Mavis strode across the grass. The dark evening revealed nothing but stars as she aimed for the large troop transport a hundred feet ahead. The cold, crisp night tried its hardest to chill her two followers. Margaret wrapped her coat around herself more tightly, but the weather hardly registered with Jack.

“So what does this quantum lock-box look like?” he asked. “How big are we talking?”

“Fo-glo-mo-bo-to-do-so,” Mavis said, her head tilted a little to carry her voice over her shoulder.

Jack’s face turned worried. “And you will be able to lift it, right?”

“She can do it,” Margaret said. “I’m more worried about how those Doctors will fit that shoelace thing in it.”

“Do-lo-flo-glo-to-zo-so,” Mavis remarked.

“Exactly,” Jack beamed. “Now where is this quantum lock-box kept?”

Mavis stopped by the side of the transport, producing a grey box and pressing the grey button in its middle. The transport beeped and the side door slid open. Margaret and Jack halted by her shoulders and peered around her to see in. She turned and folded her arms. They stepped back.

Mavis pulled herself up into the vehicle and the door slid closed behind her. Various bumps and bangs from inside entertained Margaret and Jack until eventually the door slid open once again. Mavis dropped the foot to the ground with a large grey box that appeared big enough to hold a quality pair of Doctor Martin’s boots on her left shoulder, and a cloth bag hanging from her other index finger.

“That’s it?” Margaret asked.

“Looks heavy,” Jack remarked, watching Mavis press the button on her remote to lock the transport again. She gestured to the way they had come. They began to walk back.

 

ooOoo

 

The Rani pushed at levers and set them straight again, rocking globes around and pressing buttons. He looked back at the small communicator screen propped up on the Time Rotor. “Right, Master. You’re clear.”

“Sure? I don’t want to materialise in the middle of a hat rack,” she snapped.

He looked around the Time Motor, checking clearances and space. “Nope. You’re clear.”

“Then stand by.”

The communicator went black. The Rani folded his arms, wandering down the ramp to wait by the doors. He leant on the fake wood, forcing himself to suppress the resentment that had started to build as soon as the Master’s borrowed face had appeared on the communicator screen.

A shimmering of air by the Time Rotor, and a low buzzing hum, arrested his attention. He leant harder against the wood, determined not to look on edge as the image of a woman began to form in the wibbly-wobbly cloud of steam-like obfuscation by the control centre. The image hardened and then suddenly, there she was. The steam wisped upward and dissipated. The woman looked around her in delight before checking her black trousers and cream blouse were in place. She sniffed and raised her head, tossing her dark red hair over her shoulder.

“Excellent,” she said, before she caught sight of the Rani leaning on the door. “Now then, my dear.” She twirled around, showing herself off. “See? I told you I’d take good care of you. Or rather, your body. We’ll swap back very soon, don’t worry about that.”

“Yeah - when you said ‘come do experiments on the Doctor’ I didn’t know you meant ‘have your body held to ransom till you’ve done exactly what I want of you’,” the Rani snapped.

“Get over it,” the Master said. “It’s just an insurance policy. You won’t harm me, and I won’t harm you. Unless you make me,” she added. The Rani scowled but the Master was far more interested in the controls of the Time Rotor. “Right then,” she announced. “All I have to do it slave the other two to this one, and we’re off. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve had a few months to study the blue prints. —Are you coming to help me or what?”

“‘What’,” the Rani said deliberately. “I have no intention of being anywhere near you when you’re working. You creep me out.”

The Master laughed. “Smart woman. Well, man. Temporarily.”

The Rani glared. He moved his shoulder to be more comfortable against the wooden door. He waited.

 

ooOoo

 

The three Doctors stood beneath the Bahhoff Web. Each of them appeared to be pondering it without being conscious of anything else in the universe.

Mr Brown Suit, his arms folded with one hand under his chin, suddenly hauled in a deep breath. He scratched under his chin, his face one of disgruntled distaste. “Well… It’ll be a challenge.”

“I like those,” Mr Black Jacket said happily.

“Tough challenge,” Mr Bow-tie nodded, as if he hadn’t heard. “I’m running through ideas but… well. Swimming through treacle comes to mind. Actually I remember using treacle once, in a situation not unlike this one—”

“Wait…” Mr Black Jacket said to himself. His face began to sag in hesitation over an imminent brainwave.

“A static charge, maybe? Some kind of overload?” Mr Brown Suit hazarded.

“To start a reverb?” Mr Bow-tie asked. “Possible. But very difficult.”

Mr Black Jacket snapped his fingers. “Easy!”

“Do you think we could shock it into a relapse? It would eject excess energy and reduce in mass.”

“It would need a hell of a shock,” Mr Bow-tie said. “Like brick-through-a-plate-glass-window kind of shock.”

“ _Easy_ ,” Mr Black Jacket urged. The other two looked at him. He turned and appraised them both. “Easy! You two are over-thinking it.”

The barn door opened and Jack poked his head in. “Well, fellas? Has it got any bigger?”

“Did you get everything, Jack?” Mr Black Jacket asked.

Jack stepped into the barn, followed by Margaret. “Mavis did - she’s as sharp as ever,” he said, carrying a cloth bag over to the three men. Jack tossed the bag to Mr Black Jacket. “Don’t I always get you the best stuff, Doctor?” he winked. Mr Black Jacket opened the bag. He reached in.

“I thought you said _Mavis_ got this?” Mr Brown Suit said, taking the bag.

Mr Black Jacket was left with a screwdriver in his hand. “Fantastic.”

Mr Brown Suit wrinkled his nose, as his hand came out of the bag and he inspected the screwdriver at the end. “This must be yours,” he said, handing it to Mr Bow-tie. Mr Brown Suit reached back in and he took out the last one. “Marvellous.” He pocketed it before his hand again delved in the bag. “Key for me,” he said, checking the TARDIS key before pushing it into his trouser pocket. “And a key for…” He scrabbled in the bag. His face turned anxious. “A key for…”

“Come on, hurry it up,” Mr Bow-tie urged.

“It’s empty,” Mr Brown Suit said, aggrieved. He turned the bag upside down and shook it. “It’s not here.”

“Then the Master has it. _Brilliant_ ,” Mr Black Jacket accused.

“That means he’s got into a TARDIS,” Jack realised. “Holy flip.”

“Language, Jack,” Mr Brown Suit warned. “One of these days you’re going to wear out the TARDIS swear filter.”

Mavis, just behind Mr Black Jacket, hefted the box down from her shoulder. She held it out in her hands. “So-ko-lo-fro-do-ro-mo.”

“Ah - the box. Excellent,” Mr Bow-tie said. He put his hands out for it. Mavis handed it over. The moment she let go, Mr Bow-tie’s hands plummeted to the ground - with the box still on top. “Ah! It’s got me! Help! Heeeelp!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr Black Jacket tutted. He crouched and grabbed the handles at either end of the box. He heaved. The box didn’t move. “Erm… Alright, it _may_ have him.”

Mr Brown Suit, Margaret and Jack reached down to help. But Mavis simply elbowed them all smoothly aside and lifted the box easily.

“Ah. Yes. Thanks, Mavis,” Mr Bow-tie said. He shot to his feet so fast everyone else took a step back. Mr Bow-tie straightened his neckwear and cleared his throat, lacing his fingers to crack the knuckles. “Well then. Would you be a dear and open it for us?”

She unlatched the side and then turned the entire box round to show the available door to everyone looking. “Do-fo-mo-lo-ko-bo-to.”

“I see what you mean,” Mr Brown Suit said. He pulled his glasses from his inside pocket and slipped them on before bending to peer into the box. “Eighteen inches, eh?”

“We’re going to have to shrink that _a lot_ ,” Mr Bow-tie judged, as he looked up at the shining Bahhoff Web.

“Easily done,” Mr Black Jacket said.

“It’s going to be hard fitting it in there,” Mr Brown Suit said.

“If I had a dollar for every time someone said _that_ to me,” Jack smiled. Mr Brown Suit frowned at him. Jack cleared his throat and looked at his feet.

“What did I say?” Mr Black Jacket said loudly. “You’re over-thinking it. It’ll be easy.”

Both Doctors turned and looked at Mr Black Jacket.

“Why is it when you talk I find it very easy to tune it out?” Mr Brown Suit asked him.

“Not my fault, pal. Maybe you just have poor hearing,” he said with a shrug.

Mr Bow-tie looked pre-occupied for a whole moment. “You know… I remember people doing that a lot. It was like I wasn’t even there.”

Mr Black Jacket folded his arms. “Not as often as all that.”

“Amazing how easily people forget all the good work you did,” Mr Brown Suit said quietly.

“Honestly, it’s like you’re here today and then something shiny comes along and you’re forgotten,” Mr Black Jacket said. “But hey-ho, there you go.”

“Yes, well,” Mr Brown Suit said. “What were you saying about it being easy?”

“Well there’s one sure-fire way to get that up there,” he said, pointing to the rafters, “into that little box down there.”

“And how’s that?” Margaret asked.

“Reverse the polarity of its neutron flow,” he shrugged.

Mr Brown Suit slapped his hand into his forehead. “Oh!” he shouted, as if he’d been shot. Everyone jumped. “Yes! Simple! _Blimey_ I’ve been stupid! Stupidest oversight _ever!_ ”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Mr Bow-tie remarked. “Remember that kitten on Rosoban Ess?”

“Ohh,” he sighed in complete resignation. “Yeah. That was pretty stupid.”

“When you’re ready,” Mr Black Jacket said. “We’ll need three screwdrivers and that box held open.”

 

ooOoo

 

Mr Black Jacket peered through the hedge, holding foliage back. Mr Brown Suit and Mr Bow-tie followed suit. They found the car park and the three TARDISes just as they had left them.

“Are you sure Mavis will be ok with that quantum lockbox?” Mr Bow-Tie asked. He looked over his shoulder nervously.

“Mavis will be ok. It’s Jack I worry about,” Mr Brown Suit said. “We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t jump out and try to attack the Master.”

“Why would he do that?” Mr Black Jacket asked.

“Er… can’t say,” Mr Brown Suit said edgily. “You’ll find out.”

“Huh,” Mr Black Jacket breathed. “Well here we are. We’ll just stroll into our own TARDIS and check if he’s in there, right?”

“Right,” Mr Bow-Tie said. He put a boot out of the hedge and began to push through.

Mr Brown Suit clamped a hand down on his shoulder and heaved him to a stop. “Wait.”

“What now?” he asked, his voice pitched high with annoyance.

“We need a plan,” Mr Black Jacket said. “How about Elbows there snaps his fingers and opens all the doors at once. Whichever one emits the scream of a thwarted Gallifreyan gets rushed by us three.”

“I like it,” Mr Bow-Tie grinned. “I’m with Ears. Let’s go.” He lifted his hand.

Mr Brown Suit grabbed his wrist and held it fast. “How about we get close to the doors first. You snap your fingers and open all the doors. We hear the Master swearing at us and _then_ we rush him. We need to get him _out_ of the TARDIS.”

“Good thinking, Hair,” Mr Bow-Tie nodded.

Mr Brown Suit eyed him with the utmost annoyance, but he did let go of his arm. Mr Bow-Tie pushed his way through the hedge and headed for the TARDISes.

The other two Doctors hurried after him until they stood in front of the doors. Mr Bow-Tie looked at all the entrances, then waved at Mr Black Jacket. “Ears,” he hissed, in a perverse attempt to be not heard as loudly as possible, “change places.”

Mr Black Jacket looked at the door, then at him. “Why?”

“That one’s mine,” he hissed back. “This one’s yours.”

“Does it matter?”

“We’re going to run straight into whichever one has the Master anyway,” Mr Brown Suit sighed. “Let’s get on with it.”

Mr Bow-Tie raised his hand. “Ready, fellas?”

The other two shared a wary glance. They looked back at Mr Bow-Tie. They nodded.

Mr Bow-Tie snapped his fingers.

All three doors swung open.

Light flew out and sprawled into the dark car park.

As did the Rani.

He collided with the ground hard enough to force an angry ‘ _oof!_ ’ from him. His head bounced against the tarmac and he groaned. His hand flailed up and massaged the offended body part.

A woman’s voice cut the evening air: “Stop arsing around and watch this Time Rotor doesn’t reset everything before I get back from the storage cupboard!”

The Rani’s eyes picked up a pair of off-white Converse trainers in his line of sight. His gaze went up to the brown trousers. He rolled onto his back and found three heads looking down at him.

“Well,” said Mr Bow-Tie, “you don’t see that every day.”

“More’s the pity,” Mr Black Jacket said. He crouched and grinned at the Rani. “Now then, oh great and powerful Master. Let’s talk about who you’ve got working with you in there - _before_ they get back from the storage cupboard.”

The Rani began to grin. “Gentlemen,” he said. “You have _no idea_.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Jack and Margaret stood in the barn, their arms crossed, their attention wholly on Mavis. She was sitting on the quantum lockbox, one giant fist under her chin, waiting it out with her gun across her legs.

Margaret sniffed and then looked at the door. “Now that cosmic shoelace thing is back in its box, are you sure we shouldn’t just go and help the Doctors?”

Jack and Mavis turned and looked too. “They’ll be ok,” Jack said. “There are three of them. What kind of trouble could they get into?”

“Or cause,” Margaret snorted.

Mavis let her fist drop. She stood abruptly. “To-ho-ro-to-wo-to-bo.”

Jack sighed. “You’re right. I _hate_ it when I ask stupid questions.” He hurried to the barn door. “I’ll go. You two stay here - and guard that box with your life.”

Margaret huffed. “You want us to—”

“Marg, that box is the most important part of this whole thing,” Jack said quickly. “ _Please_ \- guard it like it’s your receipt for paying your BBC licence.”

Margaret and Mavis shared a knowing glance. They looked back at Jack and nodded.

He winked and disappeared through the door.

 

ooOoo

 

The Rani sat up on the tarmac, brushing off the sleeves of his suit. “What now, Doctors? Are you going to interrogate me in a car park?”

Mr Bow-tie straightened up. “As good a place as any.”

“Who’ve you got working for you?” Mr Black Jacket demanded. “What’s this really all about?”

The Rani cleared his throat and put a hand up. Out of the three Doctors, it was Mr Brown Suit who grasped it and helped him up. “Thank you,” the Rani said with a serene smile. He pulled his suit straight. “I really don’t see why I should tell you anything. When my minion gets back to the controls and sees you, she’ll just shoot you. She’s a very good shot.”

“Why’s she in on this?” Mr Bow-tie asked. “What does she get out of it?”

“She’s a scientist,” the Rani said. “She… enjoys the physics of it all.” He looked back at the open door. “She’ll be back any moment. What do you propose we all do? Hmm? Stand here and wait for her to get all her Doctors in a row?”

Mr Brown Suit lifted a finger and pointed rather menacingly at the man. “Now you listen here, Master,” he snapped. “We have your Bahhoff Web contained, your plan is going to fail, and all we have left to do is find a place to store _you_ for a few millennia.”

“Ouch,” the Rani blinked. “Calm yourself, Doctor.”

“I was angrier back then,” Mr Bow-tie said sadly.

The Rani nodded at him, as if in commiseration.

Mr Brown Suit was not amused. “Call off whoever it is helping you. Before all this goes too far,” he warned, his finger still pointing.

Mr Black Jacket folded his arms. “You can’t make a TARDIS do anything she doesn’t want to. You should know that.”

“Are you so sure?” the Rani said, the first traces of anger seeping into his tone. “You _neglect_ her. You fix whatever is falling apart seconds before it does - but do you actually listen to her? Do you actually pay attention to her, when she’s not ferrying you places and making sure you and whatever pathetic companions you have with you are safe?”

Mr Bow-tie put his hand out slowly, stroking at the wooden door jamb. “You don’t know what we’ve been through together,” he said quietly. “Me and the old girl. She knows. And I do. You, Master, do _not_.”

Mr Brown Suit stepped back, looking the Rani up and down. “Are you getting sentimental in your old age?” he asked him, his eyes narrowed.

The Rani grinned. “Oh, I can assure you, I am neither sentimental nor old. Now, when my minion gets back here, which of you is she shooting first?”

“How about,” said a new voice, “I drag you away from the TARDIS doors and show you what ‘beaten to a pulp’ really means?” Jack pushed through the three Doctors to glare at the Rani. “You,” he accused. “I owe you.”

“Not now Jack,” Mr Brown Suit said quickly, grabbing his arm.

Jack shook him off. “You and me, Master. What do you say?”

The Rani grinned, looking him up and down. “I’d really like to say yes,” he said. “Unfortunately, you don’t have the time.” He pulled a small device from his pocket, his thumb raising to press at something.

Jack’s hand was faster. His revolver appeared out nowhere. There was a horrendously loud _crack_ before the Rani leapt back and howled in pain.

“Jack!” three male voices cried.

But the Rani was clutching his hand where the device had been. He cursed and groaned in agony. He looked down at the car park tarmac. “No! Look what you’ve done!”

The black device was in pieces. Everyone looked at Jack, but he simply pushed the revolver back in its hip holster and pushed the button down on the top.

“Now you’re out of options,” he said with a smile, but it was not a nice one. It reminded the Rani of people who swept things off their desks simply because they were in their way. “There are four of us, and two of you. Walking or not, you _are_ coming with us.”

The Rani massaged his hand, hissing something very unkind under his breath. Then he looked at all four of them, shaking his head. “I hate you. All of you.”

“That’s a white flag if ever I heard one,” Mr Black Jacket nodded. “So who’s your help?”

The Rani scowled at them all. As one, everyone folded their arms to match Mr Black Jacket’s stance of No Quarter. The Rani stomped a foot. “Oh alright!” he hissed. “It’s the Rani, ok? _She’s_ helping me.”

Three faces morphed into various stages of surprise. One twisted in confusion. “The who?” Jack asked.

The Rani straightened up. “You wouldn’t know her, ape-man,” he spat. “She’s one of the universe’s finest scientists. I need her for… things.”

“Physics things?” Mr Bow-tie asked. “You mean you couldn’t quite work out how to tether three TARDISes and needed her to tell you how to read a wiring diagram.”

The Rani fumed. “She’s better than all of you Doctors - she always was. Don’t you sneer at her.”

“He’s right,” Mr Brown Suit frowned.

Mr Black Jacket tutted. “Speak for yourself.”

“No,” Mr Brown Suit said, “he’s right about her being good. She’s dangerous in control of a TARDIS.”

“So we go in there and stop her,” Jack said.

 

ooOoo

 

Margaret wandered to the barn door. She opened it up a crack and looked out. “Um, Mavis,” she said slowly. The Judoon got up but stayed by the box. Margaret’s face went decidedly worried. “You know your platoon is working for that lunatic?”

“Wo-so-ho-no-po-to-blo?”

“Well… it looks like they’re coming back. To check on us.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Can you stall them? You’ll have to order them to stand down.”

Mavis looked at the box. She picked it up and planted it on her shoulder as she crossed to the door. Margaret stood back and the Judoon looked out into the darkness. She looked down at Margaret. “Go-bo-fo-to-do-no-so.”

Margaret nodded. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” She backed away, toward the rickety ladder that led up to the straw on the mezzanine level for barn mice. “They’ll still obey you, right?”

Mavis sniffed. She looked back at the door, then opened it wide. “To-do-fo-go-ho-ro-go,” she announced.

A bolt of light hit the door right by her head. She ducked instinctively, but then lifted her right hand and pointed out into the darkness. “ _Ko-flo-do-wo-so-go-gro!_ ” she raged.

“Such language,” Margaret winced. “But appropriate.”

More shouting was exchanged, and then a lone Judoon approached the door. Mavis ordered them inside and the door was shut. Mavis set the box down to put her large boot on top of it. “Ho. Fo-do-ro-to-go-ho-to?”

The other Judoon stood straighter and snapped something back that sounded a little judgemental. Mavis growled something back and the ensuing syllable war was watched with fearful fascination by Margaret.

 

ooOoo

 

“Before we go anywhere,” the Rani said, straightening his suit jacket, “promise me you won’t harm anyone.”

The three Doctors - and Jack - paused and looked at him in surprise.

“Excuse me?” Jack asked, non-plussed.

“Well… ok, so she’s helped me kidnap TARDISes and what-have-you, but she hasn’t hurt anyone.”

“You were going to let the whole of this county - then England - then the UK - get swallowed up by a Bahhoff Web,” Mr Black Jacket pointed out. “I think _you’re_ the one who has to worry about getting hurt.”

But Mr Bow-Tie and Mr Brown Suit shared a worried frown. Mr Brown Suit tilted his head at the Rani. “I thought we understood each other. About weapons, and people, and the hurt you cause them.”

The Rani shuffled his feet. “It’s been a long time, Doctor. At least, for me.”

Mr Brown Suit frowned harder. But he said nothing.

Jack grabbed the Rani by the arm, pushing him toward the open TARDIS door. “This is all fine and dandy, gentlemen - but you get in there and you help us capture this Rani person before she does some _real_ damage to this planet. I happen to like it as it is.”

“Where _are_ you?” came a shout from inside the TARDIS.

They all looked over. Jack shoved his arm - and by extension, the Rani - toward the doors.

“Alright,” he hissed, “I’m going.” He pulled his arm free and stepped into the timeship, putting his hand to the railing and walking up the incline to the Time Rotor. The lights began to change from bright white into a dull green-blue.

A voice was floating back to the main room by virtue of someone stalking back down what sounded like a very long corridor. “…And then all this will be over, and you can go home a happy man. Well, woman. Again.” The Master appeared in a doorway, her arms full of small boxes and a plethora of wires.

“Got enough there?” the Rani asked, folding his arms.

“I couldn’t remember which one it was,” she snapped irritably. “I’m _not_ going all the way back there - this place is a tip. I have no idea how she’s put up with this slob of a Time Lord for so long.”

The Rani looked up and around, noticing the lights begin to turn white again. “She doesn’t seem as upset about it as you do.”

The Master dropped the collection of parts to the Time Rotor console. “Shut up and help me with these. We need them connected to the other two TARDISes _now_.”

He made his arms drop and wandered up to the console. “You know… you don’t have to kill all those Judoon. You could just let them go.”

The Master burst out laughing. “Oh, Rani, you _are_ free entertainment, aren’t you?” She paused. “Of _course_ I have to kill them - what kind of evil genius would I be if I just let them walk off into a Yorkshire sunset? Which, by the way, is not going to happen.” She paused and checked her small watch on her wrist. “In about… another hour or so, when that web consumes those three Doctors, it’ll take out this whole chunk of England - and half of Wales. And then you and I, my friend, will be in my TARDIS, looking down on a conquered world.”

“I know,” the Rani said. “But if the entire world is going to be conquered anyway, why kill the Judoon? Why not have them trapped on this miserable planet, just as enslaved as the others?”

The Master let go of the box in her hands and turned right round. Her piercing green eyes considered the Rani and his awkward stance. “Rani… I can’t decide if you’re _finally_ on board with all this, or if you’re looking for a way to make it easier for you to sleep at night.” She paused. “Do you really think that saving a handful of Judoon will make any difference to the fact that you’re helping me enslave an entire planet? Or are you trying to perpetuate those idiots’ misery by promising them freedom, just so you can call up the High Command and have them come down here and take them back as deserters?”

“Thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” the Rani mumbled.

She grinned. “Ngaw. Got a soft spot for the head Judoon, have we? What did she do, say one nice thing to you that wasn’t because you were holding a gun on her?”

The Rani looked up. “She’s doing a very good job under very difficult circumstances. She’s a good person, Master. She’s not one of the ones who should die.”

“Oh really,” she scoffed. “Don’t tell me you get to decide who lives or dies? Oh now, Rani… that would make you a megalomaniac - like me,” she added with a maddening grin.

The Rani pushed away from the console in disgust. “I was just giving you a chance,” he snapped. “I thought you could be saved.”

She laughed out loud. “Again - you do provide free entertainment.” She picked up a box, selecting a thick cable and plugging it into the base. “Now stop talking and help me with all this. We have less than an hour before that Bahhoff Web eats this little country.”

He straightened up. “True. Right. So…” He reached out and picked up a box, checked the underside. “We need one of these in each TARDIS - and it has to go over the navigation array.”

She paused and looked around the console. “Where the hell is the navigation array?”

“This one is… here,” he said, stretching far in front of him and tapping a ball in the console. “Make sure it’s right next to it, and it’s not going to move. It can’t get shaken loose or all of this fails.”

“Then I get to use my favourite piece of equipment,” she grinned, feeling in her trouser pocket. She fished around, then brought out a monstrous roll of grey-silver material. “Duct tape!”

The Rani rolled his eyes. “Great. Well secure it there and make sure it’s plugged into this one, here,” he said, indicated a phono audio socket in the console. “I’ll take two boxes and connect them to the other TARDISes.”

“You’ll need this,” she said, yanking off a strip of duct tape and then holding out the roll.

He took it. “Yes. I rather think I will.” He whisked up two boxes and a couple of cables, and disappeared down the ramp. The door shut.

The Master looked down at the door. Then she slid her hand into her pocket, pulled out the small disruptor pistol, and grinned.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

 

The Rani closed the TARDIS door and looked around the empty car park. He frowned, before going to the TARDIS on his left. The door opened for him and he stepped in.

“This is different,” he commented, going up the incline to find the console was now silver tower atop a cluster of wires and some very wide grating. “I think I liked the other version better.”

“He’s redecorated,” said a weary voice, and he turned to see Mr Brown Jacket leaning against a stanchion, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “I don’t like it.”

“Oh pack it in,” Mr Bow-tie said. “Honestly - it’s not _your_ TARDIS.”

“And I can’t wait to get her back, believe me,” Mr Brown Suit said. “And what’s with all the damp in the library? Have you not been taking care of her?”

Mr Bow-tie ignored him, instead going to the Rani and taking a box and a connector lead. “She thinks this is going to slave my TARDIS to - er - Past Me’s TARDIS?” he asked.

“Yes,” the Rani said. “She has no idea. I’ll plug this lot in so that it actually produces a quantum destabilising field - it’ll trap her in there and the other TARDISes will be remain free.”

“You’re quite eager to go against her,” Mr Brown Suit observed. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“She’s… dangerous - and she’s always ruining my plans,” he snapped. “There can’t be two of us operating in the same universe.”

“Hmm,” Mr Brown Suit hedged.

“And… you lot will imprison me in some mirror, or magic box, or attic space or something if I don’t help you. Right?”

“Yes,” they chorused.

“Well then. As my options are severely limited, I’ll go fit this in the last TARDIS.” He picked up one box and a cable, and marched out.

Mr Brown Suit pushed himself up from the stanchion and looked at his future self. “Ever get the feeling someone isn’t tell you everything?”

“I didn’t marry anyone,” Mr Bow-tie gabbled innocently.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, turning back to the console. “This box… he got it from your TARDIS.”

“He said he did,” Mr Brown Suit said, coming up to his side and looking over the newly-installed cube by the navigation array. “Why?”

“It doesn’t look Gallifreyan. I don’t remember getting it. Do you?”

“Now that you mention it… no.” He sniffed professionally. “So… who was it?”

“Who was what?” Mr Bow-tie asked.

“Whom did you marry?”

“I’d rather not go into that right now.”

“The Falangical Marconis Praetor of Epsilon Theta?”

“She’s already married.”

“Really? To whom?”

Mr Bow-tie grinned. “A nephew of her second husband’s favourite step-hatchling’s sister-in-law. Very nice bloke, actually. Good at Tongo.”

“So… it’s Madreg Corintianos.”

“Who?”

“You remember them - the being with the engines and the—”

“Oh! Yes - they were a very special being indeed,” Mr Bow-tie nodded. “Very good with—”

“Reverse inline manifold adjustments,” they said together.

“I always wondered what happened to them,” Mr Brown Suit mused. “They would have loved this old TARDIS. And the travelling.”

“And what a life span! Would have been very… comfortable, what with their lack of a sense of time.”

“And direction,” Mr Brown Suit smiled.

“Quite.”

There was a pause. “So if it wasn’t them…”

“I think you should concentrate on this whole destabilisation field mess, and wait and find out about everything else,” Mr Bow-tie said suddenly.

The other Time Lord considered his face with serious compassion. “Yes. I think I should.”

“Check the leads. Not that I don’t trust The Master…”

“But we don’t,” Mr Brown Suit finished. He pulled his screwdriver from his pocket and leant over the box, zapping it down the cable and flicking it back up to read something in the blue light. “It’s a destabilisation field alright,” he nodded. “And it appears to be waiting to be activated.”

“Like the plan,” Mr Bow-tie said happily.

Mr Brown Suit put the screwdriver back in his inside jacket pocket. “Hmm.”

 

ooOoo

 

The Rani leant over the console, sitting the box by the host of navigation buttons. He plugged in the lead and then looked around for a socket.

Mr Black Jacket took it from him, leaning over and slotting into the right place. “There,” he said. “Nearly done.”

“Nearly?” the Rani asked.

“One more thing,” Mr Black Jacket said. “Why are you really helping us?”

He made his hands slide into his pockets. “Because _he’s_ still got a gun,” he said, gesturing the man in the corner of the TARDIS.

Jack Harkness inclined his head at him politely, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. “And as we’ve all seen, I’m a good shot with it.”

The Rani looked back at Mr Black Jacket. “It’s not like I have a choice, here.” He sighed, then went back to the front doors. “I’ll go tell her it’s all set up. All you have to do is wait for that box to start up. When it does, feed it with power and she’ll be trapped in the TARDIS field. Then you lot rush in and… save the day,” he shrugged.

Jack and Mr Black Jacket exchanged a glance.

“And you get off scott-free,” Jack said. “Why don’t I come with you. I think it’d work a lot better if I could keep an eye on you.”

“The moment she sees you she’ll know it’s all gone wrong,” he said. “She doesn’t even know you, remember.”

Jack pushed himself up and grabbed his long blue coat from the railing. “Then she can meet me. Never get tired of meeting new friends.”

“Jack,” Mr Black Jacket said quickly. “Be careful.”

“Doctor,” he grinned. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m not about to get hurt.”

“You could die,” Mr Black Jacket warned.

Jack laughed out loud. “Oh, you’re funny.” He chuckled to himself as he walked out of the TARDIS.

Mr Black Jacket frowned after him. Then he shook his head, as if to clear it, and went back to checking settings on the TARDIS console.

 

ooOoo

 

The Rani banged on the TARDIS door. “It’s me,” he called.

The door swung open. Jack looked at him, then waved him in first. The Rani nodded ever so slightly before stepping in.

“How long have we got left?” he called.

The Master was standing over the console, checking read-outs. “It should be less than half an hour. I can’t get this flipping thing to display the energy build-up from the Bahhoff Web. It’s like it’s not here.”

“Well you know how bad these old things work when you need them to,” he said off-hand. “They always need help. Oh, speaking of.”

Jack stepped through the door, closing it behind him. The Master looked up - and stopped dead. Jack sauntered up to the console. “Hey. Rani, right? Do I have that right?”

The Master backed away one, looking Jack up and down. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m with him,” he said, chucking a thumb over his shoulder at the Rani. “He said he needed help taking over the world. You ok with that?”

The Master didn’t speak. Jack looked round at the Rani, then back the Master. “He didn’t tell me you were just my type,” Jack added with a sly smile. “You from Earth, originally? How long you been trying to eat up worlds?”

The Master looked past him to the Rani. He simply folded his arms, his chin sticking out in victory. The Master looked back at Jack and her mouth came unglued. She smiled suddenly, nodding. “Yes… Earth, originally. Oxford. Do you know it?”

“Not at all,” he said. “Fifty-first century boy - at your service.”

“Mmm,” she grinned, one eyebrow raised.

“So are we going to get this party started or what? I’ve never seen a country eaten up by a shiny shoelace of doom before.”

The Master laughed. “Oh really - you could be just _my_ type,” she oiled. “What _is_ your name?”

“Jack,” he said, putting a hand out. “Jack Harkness.”

She beamed, taking his hand. But as she tried to shake it, he turned it over and kissed the back of hers. “Oh. Charmed, I’m sure,” she grinned.

He winked.

And then she took one step closer and head-butted him.

Jack flew backwards. He slammed into the grating. She stood over him as he attempted to get up. One swift kick to his head saw him crashing into the metal flooring.

The TARDIS gave a muted _dong!_ of warning. The lights began to brighten into white.

The Master whisked her hair over her shoulder, looking daggers at the Rani. “What an idiot,” she spat.

The Rani was staring down at Jack. “Ouch.”

“Forget him,” the Master snapped. “Get to work. I want this flipping field on and these flipping TARDISes slaved to this one - right - flipping - _now!_ ”

 

ooOoo

 

Mr Black Jacket leant over the Time Rotor console, watching the lights blink and the small adjustments ping and whizz quietly. “Any time,” he muttered.

Suddenly there was a click - the black box that had been duct taped to his navigation array shivered slightly. A low hum buzzed from its corners, and Mr Black Jacket stood back one to watch it. Lights came on around the console, apparently allowing the box to buzz louder. He snapped a few toggle switches down and leant over a small speaker.

“Mine’s kicked in. Can anyone hear me? Mine’s kicked in,” he called.

There was silence.

Abruptly a voice cut the air.

“Hello! Future TARDIS calling Past TARDIS!” came Mr Bow-tie’s voice. “Mine’s going a bit mental - like it’s high on Jammy Dodgers.”

Mr Black Jacket toggled the switch again. “Any word on the third TARDIS?”

“Not yet - nothing from Jack,” Mr Brown Suit put in. “If he doesn’t get my TARDIS back there’s going to be big trouble.”

 

 

ooOoo

 

Jack groaned. He put a hand to his head and realised he was on his back. Blinking his eyes open, some kind of soft buzzing made him squint to his left. He found himself on the TARDIS grating, the buzzing getting louder and more insistent.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask for that to be inside my head,” he grunted. He pushed himself up on an elbow - and found a bright green light beginning to leak up from the grating. It found the foot of the woman still standing by the Time Rotor console. He rubbed an eye then blinked at it. “Trippy.”

The woman paused in her ministrations over the controls. She pulled at her left foot - and found it stuck. She looked down in horror. “No!” she called. “What have you done!” She made an attempt to wrench herself free - but the green light was misting further up, snaking around her leg, reaching for her torso. “No! How _dare_ you!”

“Stay back,” the Rani called. Jack tore his eyes from the green light’s mountaineering of the furious woman to see the Rani come forward. He rushed around the console and grabbed at Jack’s arm, pulling at him.

“Ho - ok, alright, slow your roll,” Jack protested, but the Rani simply pulled until Jack was on his feet and they were backing away. “What’s going on?”

“She recognised you. You nearly ruined _everything!_ ” he accused.

“How could she recognise me? I’ve never even met her.”

“You!” the woman shouted. She lifted an arm to point at the Rani, but the green light smoothed down it and pinned it down. “You did this! You double-crossing, under-handed _turncoat!_ ”

“You get what you pay for,” the Rani snapped at her.

Jack took another step back. “What’s it doing? Do we need to leave?”

“Oh we will be leaving. Just not yet,” the Rani said. “You have to see this. It’s going to be spectacular.”

Jack freed his arm from the man’s grasp. He edged back, noticing the Rani’s eyes were glued to the sight of the green mist now covering the whole of the angry woman. Slowly but surely, it rippled over her entirely, until she was frozen in place, locked in a grimace of fury and promise. Jack took a side step toward the incline. Then another one.

The Rani went closer to the green sarcophagus of light. “How does that feel?” he snapped. “You had to know I would do this. You took something of mine, and I want it back. And seeing your little plan go completely belly-up? That’s just the icing on the cake, _Master_. This is what happens when you double-cross _me_ , when you _steal from me_.”

Jack paused. He looked back at the two of them. “Why did you call her Master?”

The Rani put a hand out to the Time Rotor console. He picked up the small disruptor pistol and pressed the power button. It whined as it charged up - and then he swung it round to point it at Jack. “You. Get away from the door.”

“I don’t think you want to shoot me,” he said, raising his palms. “Not after you telling the Doctors you didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Maybe I lied,” he snapped. “ _Get away_ from the _door_.”

Jack moved back up the incline slowly. His eyes went from the woman trapped in light to the man with the gun. “So… I’m guessing we’ve stumbled onto something that caused this TARDIS reunion, right?”

“Stop talking. Stand there and touch _nothing_ ,” he ordered. “If you try to interfere, you’ll cause damage. Do you understand?”

“Hey, I get it, I do,” he nodded. “If you told me what was going on, maybe I could help.”

“Oh don’t be such an infant. I know you’re a friend of those irritating Time Lords. You’re just trying to get his TARDIS back for him, like a good little doggy. Now shut it, or I’ll shoot you in the leg and do this myself.”

Jack’s mouth slapped shut. The man inclined his head in a sarcastic thank you before his left hand went out to the Time Rotor console. He manipulated controls and flipped switches, his attention half on his hand and half on the woman frozen just six feet from him.

Jack’s foot went out to the right. He stole toward the incline.

The Rani moved more settings, cursed under his breath, banged at the console.

Jack had made it halfway down the ramp.

The Rani twisted a large ball in the console, then looked up at the woman. “Now then. We’re going home,” he grinned.

Jack turned and ran for the doors.

The Rani slammed a hand down on a small blue button.

The Time Rotor began to screech upwards.

Jack yanked at the front door.

The Time Rotor plunged down - and back up.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

 

Mavis folded her arms across her chest and, with a face that spoke of ice cream and chocolate, appraised the other Judoon. He was more about chainsaws and painful death, until Margaret’s head popped up from its hiding place.

“Coo-ee!” she called. “’Scuze me, pet, but if you’re not going to agree with Mavis, can I sneak out of here?”

The two Judoon turned deliberately and looked at her.

“Well… it’s just that if I don’t go and see what’s happened to the Doctors, that loony in charge of you lot might actually set off some kind of reaction that destroys this world.”

The Judoon threw his hands in the air. “Wo-ko-ho-do-so-lo-to?”

“Uh… because he’s an evil git?” she hazarded. “Also, not too bright. I don’t think he’s realised he needs to be _off_ this planet before he tries any funny business.” She paused. “He does have a surprising lack of self-preservation for someone so egomaniacal.”

The two Judoon looked at each other. Then back at Margaret.

“Did I mention there’s free drinks back at my pub for every Judoon who helps us? That’s if the pub’s still there after the Master is done with this planet.”

“So-to-lo-yo-ho-bo-go?” the Judoon asked.

“Well… yes, free drinks _is_ all I have. Then again, it’s _everything_ I have,” she said.

“Yo-ro-go-so-fo-yo-ho?” Mavis asked, surprised.

“Uhm… yes, I suppose so. Everything I have, the things that mean the world - this world - to me, at your disposal.” Margaret paused. “Well? What do you say?”

The two Judoon faced each other again.

A further bout of consonant wars took place until finally the male threw his hands in the air. “Fo-bo-so-fo-bo-so-go,” he said, somewhat resigned.

“Great!” Margaret grinned. She pushed herself up and began to climb down the ladder. She jumped to the barn flooring just as the two Judoon were shaking hands. “Right then. Let’s get this lockbox into the troop transport, and us to wherever the Doctors have gone.”

 

ooOoo

 

The Time Rotor plunged and surfed - and complained about it very loudly. Jack was tossed back away from the doors as the TARDIS bucked up and down. He slammed into the ramp.

The Rani grabbed the console to steady himself. “Any time!” he cried in anger.

“When I get out of here—” the Master shrieked from inside the column of light, “I will find you, Rani! I will _end_ you!”

“Yeah, yeah!” he scoffed.

Jack squirmed around to get to his feet. He had to clutch at the railing as the green light intensified. The Time Rotor pulsed once, twice - and then a bright arc of some kind of power zapped across the space and into the green light surround the woman.

The Rani turned quickly. “Here! If this doesn’t work - shoot us both!” He threw the small pistol at Jack.

“What?” Jack spluttered. He snatched for the gun but it fell to the grating. As he bent and scrabbled around to retrieve it the Time Rotor emitted another arc of energy - into the Rani.

Jack backed up quickly. He heard the door trying to open behind him but all he could do was stare. The two beams of charge were crackling as they steamed into the man and woman. Sudden gales buffeted Jack’s face and hair; he put his hands up to protect his face. Dust, grit, small items not tied down - they all swirled around in the tiny electrical storm in a TARDIS-sized teacup. The lights flickered and buzzed. Something exploded and fizzed white sparks over the console.

Suddenly it all stopped. The wind dropped to nothing. The energy arcs were gone.

Jack stepped back and pushed at the door behind him. It opened up - and three men piled in.

“What the—” Mr Black Jacket screeched to a halt. “Jack… what did you do?”

“Nothing,” he said.

The three men walked round him and up the incline. The green column of mist was wrapped around the man. Mr Brown Suit pushed his way to the front of the group and approached slowly. He peered at him, but the man appeared to be frozen in time.

Jack was already going around them all to the fallen woman, now clawing at the grating by her collapsed legs as if it would pick her up to save her the trouble. Jack grabbed her by the shoulder.

She looked up at him - and then paused. “Did it work?” she croaked.

“No,” Mr Bow-tie said. He surveyed the entire room. “The Bahhoff web is secure, the head of your Judoon platoon is on our side, and whatever you just tried to do… failed.”

She sat up, oblivious to Jack’s grip on her. She raised her palms to look at them. She turned them over. Then she looked at Jack. “It worked!”

Mr Brown Suit pulled out his screwdriver, pressing a few settings before running it up and down the man still imprisoned in the green mist. “Oh. Very interesting.”

“When you say ‘it’,” Jack said, keeping her steady, “what are you referring to?”

The woman sat back and just grinned. “I’m free. It worked.”

“You’re a long way from free,” Mr Black Jacket said. “Explain what you just did to the Rani, there.”

“She’s encased him in a stasis field,” Mr Brown Jacket mused. “A non-lethal, time-freezing stasis field.”

“Why?” Jack asked.

The woman put her hand out. Jack grasped it and together they pulled her to her feet. “He was holding me hostage. So I lied. I stole. I cheated. And now I’m back home again.” She let go of Jack’s hand to turn to the Doctors. “I know you’re going to try to somehow punish me for what I’ve done, but I didn’t ask to be here - and I didn’t ask to be body-swapped so that egotistical lunatic could try and demolish this world.”

“Body-swapped?” Jack asked.

The Rani brushed off her trousers, before trying to pull her blouse straight. “The Master. He picked me up and offered me work. I took it. As it turns out… I should have asked more questions first.”

Mr Bow-tie walked closer to the green light. “So _this_ is the Master. He traded bodies with you, which is why you didn’t want us to hurt him.”

“Correct.” She teased her hair from her face, twisted it round the back of her neck. “And now you’ll take him off my hands and I’ll be on my merry way.” She moved to walk away.

Mr Black Jacket reached out and caught her elbow. She was dragged to a stop. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re not off the hook. You can’t just say ‘the Master did it’ and run off.”

“But the Master _did_ do it,” she snapped. “And now I’m free to return to my own experiments.”

A muted _dong!_ echoed round the room.

“My TARDIS doesn’t agree,” Mr Brown Suit said. “The Master may have had you at a disadvantage - but you had a choice in the first place, Rani. You _chose_ to help him when he first asked.”

“He said it was for science!” she protested. “That all I had to do was some wiring for him, and regulate some power flow he’d designed! I had no idea he’d take my body as collateral and force me here to this miserable planet to enslave TARDISes!”

“And yet that’s what you did,” Mr Bow-tie said.

“Under duress,” she snapped. “What would you have done, if he’d threatened your TARDIS, Doctor?”

Mr Bow-tie opened his mouth to reply, then paused and thought about it. “Well you didn’t have to go through with it. As soon as we turned up, all you had to do was ask for help.”

She shook her arm free of Mr Black Jacket. “Like _you’d_ have helped _me_.”

“What makes you think we wouldn’t?” Mr Brown Suit asked.

“Just the last half-dozen times we’ve met!” she snapped. “We’ve _never_ been on the same side, Doctors - or have you forgotten the Luddite riots?”

The three Doctors shared a knowing glance.

“That was before,” Mr Brown Suit said. “Right at this moment, we’re all on the same side - we all want to stop the Master.”

“Oh yes - stop the idiot from destroying this wretched ball,” she tutted. “And then punish me when he’s dealt with. Same old story - always second fiddle to the Master.”

“What do we do with her?” Jack asked.

“We take her with us and maybe asked the Judoon what they think,” Mr Bow-tie said with a wide smile. “After all, they were promised their freedom. I wonder what they’ll do when they find out that she was never going to give it to them.”

“But I _was_ ,” the Rani said. “It was the Master who wanted them all dead!”

The TARDIS gave a quiet hum, the lights turning more aqua-marine.

The Doctors looked at each other. “Perhaps she’s telling the truth,” Mr Brown Suit said.

Again, the TARDIS hummed at them.

“That’s settled,” he nodded. “We take her back to speak to the Judoon.”

“That’s assuming they don’t want us all dead because they think the Master is still in charge,” Jack said.

They heard a knock on the fake wood of the front door. “Hello?”

They all turned to see Margaret poking her head in the gap. “Marge!” Jack grinned. “Everything alright?”

“Of course,” she said. “Everyone’s meeting back at mine for a few pints. Anyone coming?”

“Everyone?” Mr Bow-tie asked.

“Oh, me and all the Judoon. “We’ve sorted all the unpleasantness - live and let live on another planet, I say.”

Mr Black Jacket grinned. “Humans,” he said with an air of satisfaction.

“So - are we inviting your lady friend there?” Margaret said. “And… whoever’s in the green cloud?”

“It’s a long story,” Mr Bow-tie said, “but our friend in the green cloud will be along in a moment.” He turned to Jack. “However, Jack’s going to escort his new lady friend to the party. Just so she doesn’t skip out on us. Right, Jack?”

“Yes _sir_ ,” Jack said with a smile. He took the Rani’s upper arm and they began to walk toward the door.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Margaret said. “With all these army lads and lasses in, I’m going to need help change a barrel or two.”

“Is that what we’re calling it in front of Time Lords?” Jack said with a saucy wink.

“Oh go on, you. Get back to the pub and we’ll go over what’s actually happened when we’ve all got a pint down us.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded. He opened the other door and disappeared, taking the Rani with him.

“And you three?” Margaret asked.

Mr Black Jacket turned to her. “We’ll be along,” he nodded. “Just need to work out what to do with Bonkers, here.”

“Bring him out of it, give him a drink, listen to his story. It’s what I do with everyone who wanders into my pub,” she said. She backed out of the door and it closed in front of her.

“Wise woman,” Mr Black Jacket said. He turned, rubbing his hands. “Now then. How do we get him out - and what do you think that field’s done to his mind?”

Mr Bow-tie raised his screwdriver and adjusted a few settings. “Would it be really rude of me if I did… this?” The screwdriver flashed on and began to emit a high-pitched whine. The green cloud vibrated, sparked - and then began to dissipate.

“Depends,” Mr Brown Suit said, snatching the screwdriver off him hurriedly. He inspected the settings. “What exactly did you do?”

“Not much,” Mr Bow-tie said. “I might have tinkered with the resonance of the field to get it to unravel.”

The Master - now free of the green mist - blinked, put his hands to his face, and felt at his skin. “Am I… intact?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Mr Brown Suit said. “How do you feel?”

“Er…” The Master looked around, then back at them. “Where am I?”

“Quite right - quite right - you should be outside!” Mr Bow-tie said with glee. He yanked on his arm, all the way out of the door and into the car park. “There. Pub on our left, nice clear sky above us - look at that lovely purple sunset going on. What more could you want?”

The Master turned slowly. “What was I…” He put his hands in his trouser pockets as if looking for something. They came out again, empty. “I’m sure I was doing something… Something very important. A job.”

The other two Doctors appeared from the TARDIS, closing the doors behind them.

Mr Brown Suit walked over. “You don’t remember?”

The Master looked up at him. “I’m sorry - do I know you? —Any of you?”

Mr Black Jacket folded his arms. “Yeah - we’re your mates,” he said with a grin. “And you… You work in a pub. You’re a barman.”

“ _Well_ ,” Mr Brown Suit said suddenly, “‘barman’ is pushing it. You work for Margaret. You’re new. You pull pints, collect glasses, clean up—”

“Change barrels,” Mr Bow-tie said. “You only started this morning, but you’re learning fast.”

“I am?” the Master asked. “Oh. Uh… good. Is that good?”

“It _is_ good - very good,” Mr Black Jacket said. He slung an arm round the Master’s shoulders and walked him away from the TARDIS. “ _And_ you volunteered to do overtime tonight. There’s a bit of a late-night party with some aliens.”

“Aliens?” the Master echoed. “What do you mean, ‘aliens’?”

The Doctor grinned. “As of ‘not of this planet’ aliens. Don’t worry - they may look intimidating but they’re actually very nice, once you get to know them. Which is why you offered to work all night to help Margaret out. For free, of course.”

“Oh. That sounds very good of me,” the Master said amiably.

“Oh it is - you’re a sound bloke, Mast—. Martin,” Mr Black Jacket said. “Always helpful, always considerate of others - just a really nice, really reliable bloke.”

“Well that’s kind of you to say.” He let the Doctor lead him toward the pub.

The remaining two Gallifreyans looked at each other.

And then they laughed and followed them into the pub.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

The inside of the pub was loud, warm, and chock-full of Judoon. Everyone had a smile, a pint, and an opinion on the goings-on of recent events.

The door opened and in strode Mr Brown Suit, hauling something along behind. “Evening!” he cried, with a degree of ebullience normally only found in young children at six o’clock on Christmas morning. “Look who I found!” He reached behind himself and pulled on an arm; the Master appeared. Mr Brown Suit chucked his arm round his shoulder and squeezed. “This here is Martin - you remember him. Margaret’s trainee barman.”

The entire pub stared. The deafening silence that accompanied their gazes of vexed disbelief was shattered only by the sound of the pub door closing behind two more Doctors.

“ _What?_ ” Jack cried in dismay from over a shot at the counter. The Rani, standing next to him, simply folded her arms in absolute and damning criticism of the whole evening. Jack’s face darkened. “After everything he’s done? You have _got_ to be kidding me!”

“Not at all,” Mr Brown Suit said, as if surprised. “Margaret - can you put Martin to good use, do you think? He’s ever so willing to please.”

“Is that so,” Jack snapped. He pushed his way through Judoon holding pint glasses - half of them already empty.

“Ah ah ah,” Mr Brown Suit warned.

All movement in the pub halted. It was harder to say which was more uncomfortable - the Doctor’s stare or the pub’s sudden wish it were somewhere else.

Jack’s face was thunderous. But as the seconds slipped by, it was obvious the storm was already blowing over in his head. “Fine,” he said resentfully. “Just… nowhere near me.”

Mr Brown Suit’s face abruptly flipped in daffy cheerfulness. “Martin’s much too busy to get in your way. Aren’t you, Martin?” he said, patting the Master’s shoulder.

“Uhm - yes. I think. Margaret?” he asked, lost.

“Over here, pet,” she said with a wide, shit-eating grin. “I need you to do a few chores for me.”

He nodded to Mr Brown Suit before making his way between rather large and in some cases, rather affronted Judoon. He made it to Margaret safe and sound, however, and she took him behind the bar where they could talk.

Jack stalked over to the three Doctors. “What the hell?” he demanded.

“Now now,” Mr Bow-tie said. “Where’s the Rani?”

“Mavis is helping me keep an eye on her,” Jack said. “And you still haven’t explained who she is.”

“You mean you’ve been stood next to her all this time and you haven’t got her to tell you everything?” Mr Black Jacket grinned. “Jack, you’re losing your touch.”

Jack pulled a face at him but Mr Bow-tie waved a hand to get his attention. “Look, Jack, it’s like this,” he said. “The Mast—. _Martin_ has been through a temporal phased displacement field. He’s not himself.”

“The Rani seemed fine enough - how do you know he’s not faking?” Jack demanded.

“She didn’t get the fine-tuning of _someone’s_ screwdriver as it dissipated the field,” Mr Brown Suit, raising an eyebrow at Mr Bow-tie. “Did she?”

“Of course not,” he said in innocence. “Anyway to cut a Brief History of Time down to a few words - I helped his memory eject a few building blocks. He can’t remember his name, what he was doing - and he’ll forget he’s the type to try to take over the world for a bit, too.”

“But it will wear off,” Mr Black Jacket said. “So you, Jack, are in charge of alerting one of us when it does.”

“Preferably me,” Mr Bow-tie said. “I’m much further along his time-line than anyone else. I’m ahead of him.”

Jack looked round at all three of them. “And you’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” Mr Brown Suit said. He clapped a hand down on his shoulder. “We trust you, Jack.”

Jack’s mouth worked for a second. Then he just threw his hands in the air and turned away, back toward the bar.

 

ooOoo

 

Margaret wiped her hands on a bar towel, laughing as she watched two Judoon pick up their shots. Wobbly, a bit red in the face and definitely past their prime, the two ex-soldiers nonetheless raced the drinks down. The shorter one slammed her glass to the bar top first. The second burped, high-fived her, and promptly fell over backwards.

The pub roared in approval and patrons clapped and whistled.

Jack bent over and began to help him to his feet. They just about made it before the Judoon overbalanced. Two more hands appeared and the three people swayed but remained upright.

Jack found Mr Bow-tie straightening his jacket from the exertion. “You must be stronger than you look,” Jack grinned. “I thought you were going to go right over.”

“Ah now,” he said, wagging a finger at him. “Time Lords are like Weebles.”

“Weebles?”

“Everyone knows that Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.”

Jack threw his head back and laughed out loud.

Mr Black Jacket appeared with a pint in his hand. “I think half the platoon have passed out,” he said, nodding to the snooker table at the side of the room. Jack and Mr Bow-tie turned to see three Judoon spreadeagled next to each other, on their backs. The snooker table seemed less than impressed by this, but then realised it was the most use anyone had made of it in a while, and simply put up with it.

Two more Judoon were sitting on the floor, their backs bracing each other up. A couple more were sleeping on their sides, and one more was actually _under_ the snooker table, emitting the kind of snore that would have caused an elephant to cover its ears. Legs, arms, and discarded uniform armour were strewn around to the sound of laughter and the occasional singing.

“Where’s Martin?” Mr Black Jacked asked, peering around the room.

“Margaret’s got him emptying the bins,” Jack grinned. “Then it’s his turn to clean the toilets.”

“Nice,” Mr Bow-tie grinned.

“I thought so,” Jack said. “Where’s the other you?”

The two Doctors shrugged. “He’s probably around,” Mr Bow-tie said.

Jack noticed the door slightly open and left them both to wander toward it, avoiding raucously laughing aliens. He pushed it more open to slide outside.

He found the familiar form of Mr Brown Suit with his hands in his pockets, staring out across the car park, toward the far hills and trees. Ambling up next to him, his let his own hands go into his pockets and he waited. And waited.

“Is it a good party?” Mr Brown Suit asked quietly.

“Oh yes. I don’t think anyone will forget this night in a hurry.”

“Good.” He sniffed, as if mulling something over. It stayed almost eerily quiet, considering a loud shindig was going on behind a set of doors ten feet behind them.

“What are you thinking about?” Jack asked.

“Oh… this and that.”

“What ‘this’? What ‘that’?”

The Doctor glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Wondering what to do with the Rani. Once upon a time, I used to leave her to other Time Lords. Now they’re all gone. It’s just me.”

“And you, and you,” Jack smiled. “Why not palm her off on another you?”

“Not really my thing.” He looked at his battered, once-white Converse.

“Except it is - that’s the beauty of it,” Jack said. “Think about it. You’re not giving it to someone else to deal with. You’re still sorting it out yourself. Well _you_ , not _yourself._ ”

He smiled, shaking his head as he looked up at the stars. “You never cease to amaze me, Jack.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Mr Brown Suit grinned.

It was quiet for a long time.

Finally he sucked in a huge breath, letting it all out with end-of-party regret. “So. Let’s get her squared away and we can all move on.”

“Ye-ah… we may have like a dozen comatose and hungover Judoon to shift.”

“It’s going to be a long night.”

“Is it ever,” Jack grinned. He patted Mr Brown Suit on the back, then turned and disappeared back inside.

The Doctor took one last, lingering look up. Then he turned for the door and went inside.

Jack and Mr Bow-tie were pinning small, round devices made of some kind of shiny black material to each Judoon. Then Jack stood back, waved people clear, and activated something on his wrist. The Judoon simply vanished, leaving the others to blearily object to what they perceived as kidnapping. The two men went around the upset ex-security guards for hire, assuring them it was their taxi home. More and more Judoon were sent back to their ship, until at last only Mavis was propping up the bar.

Mr Bow-tie crossed to her. “Well, mate. Looks like it’s just you,” he said with a smile.

She put a hand up. “Do-so-mo-bo-yo-go-jo,” she said.

“With Jack? Since when?” he asked.

“Ho-ko-mo-to-go-wo-ho,” she said. And then belched.

Mr Bow-tie waved the resulting noxious cloud from between them. “Well don’t say I didn’t warn you about him. Make sure he doesn’t leave you stranded anywhen. If you get into trouble, you find one of me.”

She hefted his hand down on his shoulder, nearly sending him to the floor. “Yo-no-to-yo-ko-bo-mo,” she grinned.

“Of course I do. We all do.” He pulled his jacket straight.

“Margaret? How’s the clean-up going?” Mr Black Jacket called over the pub.

She popped up from behind the bar. “Well so far, Martin’s done all the bins, cleaned out the toilets, ungunked the dishwasher and cleaned up the mould from the windows at the back of the storeroom,” she said, well pleased. “He’s a good worker.”

Mr Black Jacket chuckled. “Good. I hope you have a few more jobs for him.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I can think of at least five more detestable chores for him before we open again tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Mr Black Jacket said. He looked around. “So now all we have to do is figure out what to do with the Rani.”

“True,” Mr Bow-tie said. He turned. And turned again. “Uh… where _is_ the Rani?”

 

ooOoo

 

The Rani pushed her way through the wooden door, shifting tools and stepping over loose wires. She cracked her knuckles, then bent to the controls in front of her. “Now then,” she said, an evil smile lighting up her face. “Let’s get as far away from here as possible, shall we?” She flipped switches and moved levers. The lights of the TARDIS pulsed and changed from green to orange. “Come, come,” she said, smoothing her hand down the metal of the Time Rotor. “He won’t mind. Wouldn’t you rather steal away with me than serve that idiot?”

The lights began to segue back into green. She laughed, adjusted a few settings, and slapped at a large round button.

The Time Rotor began to plunge and rise with happy abandon.

 

ooOoo

 

Jack came down the stairs inside the pub. “Nope - just a few more Judoon up there. Martin helped me send them back to their ship.”

The three Doctors - and Margaret - looked up from their hunting positions around the pub.

“Well that’s just fantastic,” Mr Black Jacket tutted. “She’s escaped.”

“How far can she get out in Bumblefudge Nowhere with no ship?” Margaret asked.

Mr Brown Suit snapped his fingers and dashed for the front door.

Everyone else bundled out after him. They collected in the car park, the weak rays of a new sunrise trying to eek out over the green horizon.

“Wow - morning already,” Jack said. “I’m a bit jet-lagged - felt earlier than that.”

“Count the TARDISes!” Mr Brown Suit urged.

They spread out, then ran around the other side of the pub building.

Mr Black Jacket screeched to a halt. “Wait - there’s three of her here.”

“This one’s mine,” Mr Bow-tie said, going up to the middle TARDIS, her door displaying a St John’s Ambulance sticker.

“And that’s mine, and that’s his,” Mr Black Jacket said as he indicated the other two timeships. “So how did she get out of here? What did she do, call a taxi?”

“There were no cars here all night - and she doesn’t have a phone,” Jack said.

“I’ve got a childlock on the landline behind the bar,” Margaret shrugged.

Mr Brown Suit turned in a circle, surveying everything very carefully. “She could’ve got past that easily,” he said. “Wait - something’s different.” He turned again, squinting as if to focus everything in sight at once.

“Looks the same to me,” Margaret said.

“No… he’s right,” Mr Black Jacket said. “Something’s… missing.”

“Well I don’t know what it is,” Jack shrugged.

The Master poked his head out of the doors to the pub. He wandered up behind Margaret. “Hi. Uh… what time does my shift finish, please?” he asked amiably.

Margaret turned to him. “Oh, Martin, pet. Take a rest. You’ve been working hard all night.”

“I think I enjoyed it,” he smiled. “It’s nice to… do something. With my hands.”

“Wonderful - great - _molto bene_ ,” Mr Brown Suit snapped. “Be quiet and let us figure out what’s missing from this picture.”

The Master looked around innocently. “The shed.”

“What?” Mr Bow-tie asked. “What shed?”

“There was a shed by the wall,” the Master said. He lifted his arm and pointed. “How does someone steal a _shed?_ ”

All three Doctors exchanged a glance that was all about raging self-kickery. And then, as if rehearsed, they raised a single hand each and slapped them straight into their faces.

Jack stared at the now uncovered wall. “What? So there was a shed. What about it?”

“It wasn’t a shed,” Mr Black Jacket groaned.

“It belonged to—. Her partner in crime,” said Mr Brown Suit.

Jack just shrugged, clueless.

“It was a TARDIS,” said Mr Bow-tie deliberately. “And she stole it out from under the M—. Him. I don’t suppose he’ll be very happy about that, when he finally comes-to.”

“I can’t say I’m unhappy about _him_ being unhappy,” Jack said with a smile, folding his arms.

“Do we go after her?” Mr Black Jacket said. “You know we can’t leave her with a TARDIS.”

“What choice do we have? She could be anywhere by now,” Mr Bow-tie said. “Let’s face it, lads - she’s gone and it’ll be bad luck if we ever see her again.”

“You may be right,” Mr Brown Suit said. He folded his arms. “Now… what about Martin?”

“What _about_ me?” the Master asked. “Was this a test? A second interview?” He closed on Margaret. “Did I pass? Can I stay?”

She looked at Mr Brown Suit, but the Master looked around her at the three Doctors.

“ _Please_ can I stay?” he asked. “I like it here - I like helping people. It feels comfortable, and I’m not sure but I think that’s a new feeling for me. For some reason… I like the idea of… not moving. Of staying in one place. And…” He caught Margaret’s eyes, then looked at his feet. “And I think… I think Margaret’s being kind to me. Something tells me maybe I don’t deserve it.”

Jack let his head fall back on his neck, his eyes rolling up at the stars in a complete body scoff.

But the three Doctors shared a long look. Mr Bow-tie nodded once. Mr Brown Suit paused, but then eventually nodded.

Mr Black Jacket turned to the Master. “Do you promise to do everything Margaret tells you to?”

“Oh yes,” the Master said eagerly.

“And behave as she tells you to?”

“Yes.”

“And not try to take over the planet? Any planet?”

“What?” he spluttered. “Of course I wouldn’t do that.”

Mr Black Jacket shrugged. “As it is… he seems ok.”

“And when that changes?” Jack asked.

Mr Brown Suit levelled a serious gaze at him. “You come here and you collect Martin. And then you sit on him until you can get one of us here.”

“Understood,” Jack said.

Margaret pulled her cardigan more tightly round herself. “Well. It’s getting downright parky out here. Who’s for a hot cup of tea and a fry-up?”

Jack rubbed his hands together happily. “Lead on!”

 

ooOoo

 

The three TARDISes watched as six people approached their doors. The three familiar men paused, the other three people watching from a polite distance.

“Well, it’s certainly been entertaining,” Mr Black Jacket said. “Wait till I _not_ tell Rose about this little adventure.”

“Quite right,” Mr Brown Suit smiled. “Well, Jack, Margaret, Martin… I’ll see you all again, I hope.”

“We can but hope,” Margaret said.

“Have a safe trip,” the Master said cheerfully.

Mr Brown Suit turned to the other Doctors. “And the same to you two. Look after us.”

“Always,” Mr Black Jacket said. “Margaret - you’re a star. Martin - stay out of trouble. Jack - you know what to do.”

“Yes sir,” Jack said. “It won’t be so bad, staying in Yorkshire for a bit. Beats Cardiff.”

“That reminds me - has Mavis left yet?” Margaret asked.

“Oh she’s not leaving,” Jack grinned. “She’s going to help me look after Martin.”

“I like Mavis,” the Master said. “But she’s a terrible cheat. She says she’s not good at snooker - but she is.”

“And on that note, I’ll see you all… when I see you,” Mr Black Jacket said. He looked at Mr Brown Suit with a serious nod. Then he turned to Mr Bow-tie. “And you two… I’ll be you when I be you.”

They gave a little wave each, and Mr Black Jacket stepped in through the TARDIS door. It closed unceremoniously, and Mr Bow-tie put his hands in his pockets. “Me next, I guess. Bye everyone - stay good.”

Mr Brown Suit waved, Jack nodded, and Margaret and the Master smiled. Mr Bow-tie disappeared into his TARDIS and the familiar blue door shut soundly.

“That leaves me,” Mr Brown Suit said. He looked at Jack, but he already had his mouth open.

“Wait,” he said quickly. “I know we can’t do spoilers, but… Thanks, Doctor. For what you will do.”

“Ok,” Mr Brown Suit said, his eyes narrowed. “Thank you. I think.”

Jack strode up to him and put his arms out wide. Mr Brown Suit grabbed him in a bear hug and they squeezed, making growling noises and patting each other’s backs. They parted and the Doctor waved to Margaret and the Master.

“Look after each other,” he said. They waved.

He took a last look around. And then he stepped in through the door, closing it with a very quiet click.

Jack stood back, next to the Master, as the three TARDISes began to whirr and whomp. The noise got louder, the lamps on the top flashed, and slowly, steadily, they pulsed out of sight.

“ _Wow_ ,” the Master breathed. “That was amazing.”

“Yes it was,” Jack sighed. He plunged his hands in his pockets. Then he looked at Margaret. “Coffee?”

“Coffee,” she said, gesturing back to the pub with her head. “And then you can teach Martin how to fix the microwave.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said. She walked back toward the door behind them.

The Master put a hand up, making him pause. “Can you… Well.”

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“I get the feeling that something I’ve done… upset you very much. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.”

Jack sighed. “Oh, Martin,” he said, wandering closer. “You did, and it did. But… right now, I’m finding it very hard to keep disliking you.”

“Why?”

“ _This_ you… is better. Much better. And I hope it lasts forever.”

The Master stared at his feet. “I like this me too. And I hope it lasts forever.” His eyes swept up and found Jack’s. “Can it?”

“Well we can certainly try,” he said.

“But… you didn’t like me, and now you’re going to help me. I’m really grateful of course, but… why? Why help me?”

“Oh… once upon a time, that man in the black jacket did the same for me. And so did the one in the brown suit.”

“Who _are_ they?” the Master asked. “How do they run everything?”

“With kindness, and forgiveness, and the wisdom that comes with being so old,” he said, putting a hand up. He clapped it round the Master’s shoulder and turned them, walking them back to the pub. “If you ever become half the man he is, you’ll have succeeded.”

“Which one?” the Master asked, basking in the warmth of Jack’s apparent good mood.

“The Doctor.”

“Doctor who?”

Jack laughed, squeezing his shoulder as they walked. “Never gets old,” he grinned.

 

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a few years and a few house-moves, but I finished it. :)  
> Thanks for making it to the end! It's all for you, you reading readers who read.


End file.
